


Crashing In

by followyourenergy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Babies, Best Friends Castiel & Anael & Charlie & Anna, Car Accidents, Celebrity Dean Winchester, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Businesses, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Parent Castiel (Supernatural), Shop Owner Castiel, Small Towns, foster parenting, maine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 77,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followyourenergy/pseuds/followyourenergy
Summary: Castiel Novak is convinced he’s the last unwillingly single person in Lupine Cove. Even Gabriel, his perpetual bachelor brother, has found love. It’s probably because Cas leads the most boring life in existence. He’s a gay man living in a rented, one-room cottage in the same small coastal town he grew up in, just getting by as the owner of the same convenience store he was practically raised in. The most excitement he gets is chatting with the locals or maybe, if he’s unlucky, oversleeping and rushing to work. So when a baby is left at the Safe Haven drop-off at the local fire station, he takes the opportunity to step in for the child temporarily, at least until suitable parents, plural, can be found.Life certainly gets more interesting.And it gets even more interesting when a handsome man comes crashing—literally—into his life.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor Gabriel/Sam Winchester - Relationship
Comments: 820
Kudos: 804
Collections: Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution for the 2020 Harlequin Bang! I hope you enjoy it. The inspiration for this is the story "Shocking Sapphires," which I admit I've never read (I took the summary and ran with my own thing). 
> 
> Thank you to all my returning readers for your continued support! And for new readers, welcome! I hope you all enjoy this story that I fell in love with.

_“Castiel. Castiel, sweetheart.”_

_Castiel smiles softly, burying his face in the soft covers. It’s a game they play, Castiel pretending to be asleep and his partner coaxing him awake._

_“Time to wake up, love.”_

_Castiel doesn’t move._

_Fingers trail through his hair; kisses land on his temple, his cheeks, his neck. “We’re going to be late.”_

_Castiel hums and stirs, then settles into the blankets again, as if he hasn’t heard._

_“Love. Our flight leaves soon. Don’t you want to fly away together?”_

_They fly away together all the time, yet it doesn’t stop being exciting. Everything with his love is exciting. Still, he plays hard to get, sighing softly._

_“I suppose if flying away with me doesn’t excite you, I’ll have to excite you in other ways,” his lover purrs, one hand cradling his face and the other gliding down his torso, sending shivers tingling through his body. He opens his eyes, smiling..._

The buzzing of his phone wakes Castiel Novak from his recurring dream. He darts his hand out from under his covers, feeling for his phone on the nightstand. He squints at the display. 

_Gabriel 5:35am: It’s another beautiful day! Have a good one!_

“Yeah, beautiful for you,” he mutters, annoyed. His perpetual bachelor brother is in love, officially “tamed” and off the market. And he _won’t shut up_ about it. _“It’ll happen for you, too!”_ Gabe likes to tell him. But at thirty-six, though he’s certainly not _old_ by any means (in fact, his brother is two years older), he doesn’t hold out a lot of hope. 

Castiel has tried it all—community potlucks, blind dates set up by well-meaning friends and family members, dating sites, bars. None of it has worked. He already knows the majority of the people in the small, coastal Maine town of Lupine Cove, and the rest of the people wandering their streets are tourists, only around for a week or two or maybe the summer. Add the fact that he’s gay and he _really_ struggles to find someone, even as gay-friendly as the town is. (“But I did!” Gabe reminds him, which doesn’t help at all.)

He texts his brother a middle finger emoji, then turns off the alarm that’s about to go off and tosses his phone onto the glaringly empty side of his bed. He scowls at it. _As if I need another reminder._ _God, my life is pathetic._ He covers his face with his pillow, deciding he can rest his eyes for the five more minutes that Gabe’s text stole from him.

Five more minutes turns into twenty-five. “Shit!” he hisses when his eyes fly open and he realizes he’s late. 

He makes a mad dash through his house, taking a “dirtbag shower” (Gabe’s term) by spritzing body spray onto himself and combing water through his unruly hair before he shoves his feet into his sneakers. Dragging his keys from the table by the door, he jams them into his mouth and closes his entrance door with one hand while texting his mother, who “just wanted to see how you are,” with the other. He drops it in his haste, cracking the screen of the cheap smartphone he got with his prepaid plan from Wal-Mart. “Son of a—urrrrgh!” He shoves it into his pocket, then rushes toward his car—or tries to, but is unceremoniously yanked back by the storm door like a bad actor by a vaudeville hook. Growling, he unhooks his now-torn pocket from the handle and stomps to his car.

Sadly, he thinks once he’s driving to work in his Impreza, his rushed morning and breaking his phone will be the highlight of his day. He has nothing else to talk about. Nothing _ever_ happens to him.

* * *

The door to Lupine Cove Market and Deli swings open with a slam just as Castiel is handing Mrs. Beliveau her purchases in her reusable bag. Their heads swivel to see Benny Lafitte, Fire Chief for the Lupine Cove Fire Department, rushing toward the register. “Cas,” he pants, as if he ran down here. Perhaps he did, with the station being just down the road. “We got a situation.”

“Okay?”

“There’s a baby.”

“A...baby.”

“Yeah. We got a baby. At the station.”

It takes Castiel a moment to realize what Benny is trying to say to him. “There was a baby brought for safe haven?” Castiel had been one of the citizens to help the fire and police stations join the Safe Haven program, allowing people to surrender their newborns without penalty or questions. 

Benny nods. “Yeah. I’m shittin’ myself, brother. Me ‘n’ Zeke don’t know what to do with a baby. He’s sittin’ there with him, and the baby seems all right, but we ain’t got a clue other than we gotta do somethin’ with ’im. You gotta come down. Please.”

Castiel shakes his head, attempting to clear the chaos from his mind. He turns to address his employees. “Okay. Um, Jack, Patience, keep an eye on things, will you?”

“On it!” they cry, Jack moving to the register while Patience stays in the deli area, where they make sandwiches, pizzas, and fried foods for townspeople and leaf-peeping tourists. He nods at them both, knowing he can trust them, and follows Benny.

Five minutes later, he’s face to face with a tiny infant. “Hello,” he whispers in awe as he takes the baby from a panicked Zeke’s arms. 

“The mom brought ‘im in with nothin’ but those pajamas and that blanket,” Benny says, pointing to an old, pilled blanket with Pikachu printed all over it wrapped around the child.

“It’s cold out,” Castiel frowns. Though it’s only October, the wind off the bay is biting hard today.

“Didn’t have much, maybe.”

Castiel nods. “You called Human Services?”

“Yeah. Called Charlie directly, actually. She’s on her way. Had to grab some stuff for the little guy first.”

Charlie Bradbury works for the Department of Health and Human Services, in the Child and Family Division. She’s also one of Castiel’s closest friends. “Good. In the meantime, let’s hope he doesn’t have to eat.”

No sooner does he say the words than the baby begins to wail, plaintive cries that pierce Castiel’s heart. “Damn. Run up to the grocery store and buy a bottle and some formula,” he urges the men. “One of you, go!”

Zeke takes off, leaving Benny and Castiel alone with the hungry baby. Castiel shushes him, offering him his knuckle to suck on as he rocks him. The baby cries around it. The men look at each other helplessly. 

“So, how’s your day been?” Benny tosses out.

Castiel looks down at the boy in his arms. “Eventful.”

“Huh. Yeah. Mine too. Go figure.”

They alternate sitting and pacing until Zeke returns, formula and bottle in the crook of his arm.

“Go wash it,” Castiel instructs Zeke, jutting his chin toward the bottle. “Benny, get the formula ready.”

“Man, I didn’t have to do this stuff. You do it; I don’t know what I’m doin’.”

Castiel stares at him incredulously. At least Benny has experience with _young_ children, having gotten together with his now-wife Andrea when Andrea’s daughter was three. Castiel’s only fostered one kid, his employee Jack Kline, and the twenty-year-old was sixteen when he was placed with him. He only became his foster parent because Jack’s mother, Kelly, was a friend and he would’ve become a ward of the state otherwise, her parents unable to care for the teen after Kelly passed away. “I have no more experience with babies than you do, but we can both read instructions. So take the baby or make the formula.”

Benny raises his hands in surrender as he takes the formula and follows Zeke to the station’s kitchenette. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Castiel coos as the baby’s wails increase. “I hope.”

Within minutes, Benny is carrying a bottle to him. “It’s warm. Google said to test it on the wrist. Felt okay to me.”

Castiel does the same, then holds it to the baby’s mouth. After a bit of adjusting, he starts sucking on the bottle and calms down. Castiel calms, too, his adrenaline dropping as the boy settles in. He releases a gusty sigh. “There you go,” he murmurs. “That’s it. Poor thing. He doesn’t look very old.”

“Three days. Still got the clip thing on the belly button.”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “Damn. Did she say why she was giving him up, Benny?”

“She just said she’s in a bad situation. Not from around here. She’s from The County,” he explains, referring to Aroostook, the northernmost county of Maine. “On her way south somewhere to start a new life, she said. Picked Lupine Cove ‘cause it sounded pretty and we had the Safe Haven program.”

“And the father?”

He shrugs slowly. “She doesn’t know who he is. Got the feeling that was part of the ‘bad situation’ thing.”

Nodding, Castiel shifts his hold on the boy and gazes at him. “She must’ve come right from the hospital, or pretty damn close.” The boy fusses and formula starts spilling from his mouth. Castiel waits a moment, but when he doesn’t stop fussing, he puts the bottle aside and picks the baby up, rubbing his back to soothe him. The baby burps. Castiel hadn’t even thought of that, but he remembers now that’s a thing you’re supposed to do for babies. He’s proud of himself for doing it (even by complete accident). The boy burps again, then makes a wet sound that has Castiel craning his neck back to see what’s happening.

“Got something on your shoulder, dude,” Zeke notes wryly. It’s regurgitated formula, by the looks of it, and it stinks. Castiel frowns in disgust, then moves the baby back into his arm and dabs at his mouth with his thumb, wiping the residual on his pants. The baby resumes crying. He tries the bottle again, and the infant sucks at it eagerly.

“You’re pretty good at this, Cas,” Benny says. 

“I don’t know about that.” 

They repeat the cycle a couple more times, the baby seemingly better for a bit, then ramping up again toward the end. He’s finished nearly the entire bottle when Castiel thinks that perhaps he’s had enough. He’s proven right a moment later when the boy vomits all over both of them. 

“Damn,” Benny and Zeke declare simultaneously.

“Ah, you’ve been initiated, I see,” Charlie calls with a smirk. The three men turn toward her as she strides to them, bags in hand. “I got stuff. Guess you beat me to it, though.”

“Just the formula,” Castiel explains. “He was hungry.”

“I see that. How much did you give him?”

Grimacing, Castiel answers, “The...whole bottle?” He holds up a four ounce bottle.

“Yeah, too much.”

“I see that.”

“Mmm,” she grins, suppressing some snarkier comment, Castiel is certain. “You look good with a baby in your arms, though, Cas.”

Castiel raises an unimpressed brow.

“You do.”

“I’m completely incompetent.”

“You’re not completely incompetent. Just mostly incompetent.”

“Thank you. That boosts my self-esteem to astronomical levels.”

She cackles and messes his hair. “No problem. So. Let’s talk about how this little one came to be here.”

Since Castiel has nothing to do with the conversation, he cleans up the vomit as best as he can, then lets his attention drift to the boy who’s just starting out in the world. He’s falling asleep, lids fluttering, breaths gradually lengthening. His hair is dark and plentiful, his skin reddish-purple and littered with tiny white dots on his face, reminding Castiel of acne. He has almost no eyebrows, his nose is broad and flat, and he has thin, pink lips. He looks grumpy as hell, like a little old man who’s settling back into an interrupted nap. Castiel chuckles quietly, thinking he probably looked very similar just this morning. He sneaks a hand under the blanket to feel one of the baby’s feet. It’s cold and so tiny. Castiel has the overwhelming urge to cup it in his hand and blow warm breath onto it. Instead, he rubs it, trying to stimulate the blood. He does the same with the other, gritting his teeth when the baby stirs and squeals and relaxing when he settles back down.

His phone buzzes. Thinking something might be wrong at the store, he digs it out of his (wet) pocket and checks it. The screen is splintered, but he can still read the multiple missed text messages:

_Jack 1:32pm: Is the baby ok?_

_Patience 1:34pm: We wanna see the baby! Send pics!_

_Gabriel 2:05pm: What’s this I hear about a baby?_

_Jody 2:21pm: I heard about the baby. I’m sending Donna over._

_Ana Jo 2:27pm: Why am I just hearing about you having a baby now?_

_Anna 2:33pm: What’s this baby nonsense I heard?_

Castiel sighs. Word travels fast in a small town. He tucks the phone away, deciding to wait to answer everyone until Donna comes and Charlie decides what’s going to happen next. 

He hopes the little guy gets a good home to go to.

When Officer Donna Hanscum arrives, she beelines for the baby. “Well, look at him!” she squeals. “What a cutie!”

“Kind of ugly, actually,” Zeke says, looking him over. Castiel himself was thinking the baby wouldn’t win any pageants, but now he finds himself feeling defensive. All babies look a little weird at first, he thinks. His scowl matches Donna’s.

“Now you stop it,” she scolds him. “If you’d just come out of a dark, wet place after nine months, you wouldn’t be looking your best, either. He just needs some fresh air and good food.”

“It’s been over twenty-five years since Zeke came out of a dark, wet place, and he still doesn’t look better,” Castiel snarks.

Charlie and Donna screech and Benny guffaws as Zeke shoots him a sarcastic “Ha ha, funny, Cas” that satisfies Castiel’s petty need to get him back for his unnecessary comment. Like Donna said, the baby just needs to grow a little, that’s all.

Donna strokes a finger along the baby’s ear. “Well, we oughta figure out what this kiddo needs, huh?”

Two hours later, there’s a consensus among the four people at the long dining table about just what—or, rather, _who_ —this baby needs.

“I don’t know the first thing about babies!” Castiel cries when Charlie, Donna, Benny, and Zeke all decide that he should take the boy.

“I wouldn’t say that’s true,” Benny comments, pointing at him as he changes the baby’s diaper on the worn gray-blue couch in the station’s community room. “Looks like you got this thing under control.”

“Anyone can change a diaper.”

“Not anyone,” Charlie says, rolling wide eyes that have probably seen way more than Castiel wants to think about. “Cas, I really think you can do this.”

“No. I can’t. I don’t know anything about babies, I have a business to run, I rent a shoebox...how the hell am I going to take care of a baby?”

“The same way other single parents do.”

“Like it’s that easy.”

Charlie pushes her phone and laptop across the table, folding her hands and gazing at him earnestly. “I didn’t say it would be easy. I said I think you can do this.”

“I really have to disagree.”

“Please?” She blinks large puppy eyes at him. “You’re already licensed as a foster parent. You’re right here in town, so I’m nearby if you need anything. You can take him to work with you. I mean, it’s not like your boss is gonna fire you.”

Since he’s the boss, Castiel guesses not.

“You’ll get a stipend from the state for his care, and we’ll provide the stuff you need. He’ll have health insurance through us, too, and I’ll be at your service for as long as you need. And look, you already like him.”

Castiel glares at her, but turns soft eyes to the baby, who looks back. An involuntary smile creeps onto his face before he shoves the smile and his feelings aside with a frown. “I can’t. I...I don't have anything to offer him, Charlie. Living in a tiny cottage, coming to work with me? What kind of life is that? God, _I_ can barely stand how boring my life is.”

“Chance to add a little zing,” Donna grins.

“It wouldn’t have to be forever. You’d just be fostering him until I can get a permanency plan in place. Please?”

He sighs through his nose, staring at the four gathered at the table, then at the helpless, adorable baby who would definitely win all the pageants, damn it. “Who names him?”

“You can,” Charlie grins.

He’s screwed. He’s absolutely screwed, and he knows it. “Okay, fine. But _just_ for now.”

“Just for now,” Charlie agrees, happily pulling her computer back to her to start the process.

Castiel picks up the infant, snuggling him close to keep him warm (and carefully avoiding the cold wet patch on his clothes). “I guess you’re stuck with me,” he murmurs. “Sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Just for now”....hahahahahahaha....oh Cas.
> 
> What did you think of chapter 1? And do you think life’s going to get even more exciting? (Of course it is. 😘)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of Castiel's best friends is Ana Jo (a combination of Anael and Sister Jo, for your reference).

_Three months later_

“Gotta bundle up today, buddy,” Castiel tells the squirmy fourteen-week-old on the changing table. “No, I need that arm! I need that arm, Matthew! Give it to me!”

The baby breaks into a gaping smile at Castiel’s teasing. Castiel presses squeaky kisses onto the boy’s chubby, smooth cheeks.

“Who’s gonna come into the store and talk to you today, hmm? Who do you think, Matthew? Will it be Mr. Colton? Will it be Mrs. Fitz? Will it be Mr. Benny? Maybe...Miss Ana Jo? Oh, you love Ana! Yes!”

Castiel picks up the baby, who’s still smiling. He loves being talked to, and Castiel loves talking to him. Life has certainly gotten more interesting since Matthew’s been around. Crowded, for sure, Castiel thinks as he bumps into his bed, just a few feet from the changing table and crib against the wall (there’s _so much stuff_ with a baby and he has so little room in the one-bedroom cottage he rents). Busier, absolutely. Angstier? Oh, yes. Castiel feels uncertain half the time, inept most of the time, and tired _all_ the time. He doesn’t regret a moment of it, though, because Matthew is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, even if he’s only keeping him for a little while.

After feeding Matthew, Castiel bundles him into his car seat. He grumbles at the fact that he can’t put him in his cozy down bunting, but it’s too thick to secure him in the seat properly, according to the American Academy of Pediatrics, who probably knows more about children than he does. He wiggles mittens onto his hands and thick socks onto his feet that Mrs. Beliveau knitted for him, then layers blankets on top of him. With that, they head to the store.

Lupine Cove Market and Deli will be busy today, with the three to six inches of snow they’re expecting this afternoon and into the night. There are standard grocery stores, of course, and most people will go to those if they need a lot. But for just a handful of things, they’ll come to him. It’s convenient for those who live nearby, he tries to keep his prices reasonable, and townspeople are all about supporting their own when they can, especially off-season. He appreciates it. And now, of course, Matthew is there. He swears business has picked up just because the baby is behind the counter. People come through to talk to him or just to get a little peek. Matthew doesn’t mind some cuddles, either, so some of the regulars get to hold him once in a while. 

“Matthew!” Ana Jo Pelletier, one of his first customers of the day, squeals as she approaches the counter, putting her coffee and her money down and making grabby hands. 

“Hi, I’m here, too,” Castiel drawls, taking the boy out of the carrier he’s wearing. He passes him over to another one of his red-headed best friends. She’s also Matthew’s physician. 

She grins unapologetically as she cuddles the baby and makes silly faces at him. “Hey, as soon as you become a parent, your rank drops.”

“He’s not technically mine.”

She shoots him a disbelieving look. “Right. Honey, do you believe the bullshit that’s coming out of your daddy’s mouth?”

“Don’t say bad words to him.”

“Why do you care? He’s not yours.”

Castiel glares at her and points his finger. “Don’t say bad words to him.” He shoos her aside to help the next customer, who has eggs, milk, bread, and a container of ice melt, and the customer after that, who’s picking up a soda and a pair of lottery tickets.

“You know,” Ana Jo says when the line clears, “I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn.”

“I did it as a favor to Charlie. You know that.”

“Yes, and I know that every time she says she has a potential adoptive placement, you grill her about whether they’re good enough, and they never are.”

“I just don’t want him going somewhere bad. I want him to have the best of everything—a big house with a yard, money, parents who can give him amazing experiences and all the attention he deserves…” He strokes Matthew’s hair. “He should have it all, Ana. I can’t give him those things, but someone should.”

“You’re already giving him what he really needs, Cas. You’re giving him love. You’re giving him a safe place, and you’re giving him lots of people in his life who care about him.”

Castiel shrugs. He knows he’s giving him what he _needs_ , but he wants to give him so much more. He wants him to be able to do whatever his heart desires. He wants him to explore the world, to stretch his wings, to not be raised in a fucking _store_ like he was and be stuck in the same town he grew up in. Not that his life was, or is, bad, it’s just... _boring_. _He’s_ boring. And alone. He wants Matthew to be with parents who love him as much as they love each other, who can give him what Castiel can’t.

But just because he wants that doesn’t mean it’s easy to give him up, and it doesn’t mean he’s going to give Matthew to just _anyone_.

“I can’t give him what I want to give him.”

“Then that means you have to figure out a way to do it.”

“A man who wants to be with me and a baby isn’t just going to come crashing into my life. It hasn’t happened yet. Hell, I haven’t even been able to get a guy who wants to stick around for _me_ , never mind a kid.”

“Do you even give them a chance, or do you just assume?”

He doesn’t answer, instead taking Matthew from her and sliding her coffee across the counter. “You’re going to be late for work.”

“Nice avoidance. But yeah, I suppose. Text me later this week; we’ll go out for Thai.”

“I can’t—”

“My treat.”

“Ana.”

“Cas.”

“Matthew has a schedule.”

“Come on, babe, be spontaneous.”

“You try being ‘spontaneous’ with a fourteen-week-old.”

Ana Jo tosses her wavy hair behind her shoulder. “It’s not about his schedule, anyway. It’s about the money. Which is why—”

“I’m not a charity case and I'm not broke. I’m just...frugal. I have to be. You know how it is in the winter. Business is down, bills are up. And I just helped Jack with his spring semester costs.”

“Fine. I’ll come cook for you.”

Castiel scoffs as he rings up his next customer—Zeke, here for a tray of coffees and boxed donuts. “Right.”

“Jeez, you’re gay and women are still throwing themselves at you,” Zeke comments.

“What can I say?”

“Say yes to a beautiful woman offering to cook for you.”

“She can’t cook! I’d be endangering myself!”

“She can cook for me.”

“Oh, piss off, Zeke,” Ana Jo dismisses him. “You too, Cas.”

“Pissing off is what I do best.” Castiel grins at his joke. Ana Jo grins, too, then leans over the counter and gives both Castiel and Matthew kisses on their cheeks. 

“Where’s mine?” Zeke calls as she grabs her coffee.

“I told you, piss off.” She raises her middle finger as she says goodbye. 

Castiel watches her disappear, still smiling and feeling fortunate that he has such good friends despite his dull life. _Now if only I had beautiful men offering to cook for me_. He chats with Zeke for a couple of minutes before getting Matthew’s bottle ready in the deli area.

* * *

Traffic in the store has slowed down to nothing by 4:00, likely because of the freezing rain they’re getting. It’s not uncommon for the coast to get ice before snow, or an ice/snow mix. Sometimes they’re lucky and only get rain while inland areas get the snow dumped on them, but not this time. Frankly, Castiel would rather have all snow. Much less dangerous.

Seeing as most people are probably home now or are heading that way, Castiel decides to close early and leave before it gets too dark. Visibility will already be getting bad, he’s sure, and he wants to get Matthew home safely. He posts a message on the store’s Facebook page, then shuts down the kitchen, turns down the heat, and flicks off the lights. With Matthew secured in his portable car seat, he gives a final look around before locking up and bracing himself for the walk across the street to his car.

Castiel usually parks on the street in the off-season in order to leave the limited parking spaces in front of his store for customers. In the summer, the spots are metered, so he parks in his own lot or walks the mile from his apartment. Well, _used_ to walk the mile. Probably not anymore. Or maybe he will still, if Matthew isn’t with him anymore. The thought makes his heart clench, but he reminds himself that Matthew deserves more. 

Knowing that doesn’t ease the pain.

It’s that pain and the unrelated thought of what he’s going to have for supper that is on his mind when a set of lights bears down on him rapidly as he’s crossing the street. He turns, wide-eyed.

The car comes closer.

His feet can’t move.

The car swerves.

Castiel shields Matthew as best he can as he braces for impact.

There’s a loud crash.

Castiel looks around. The car missed them.

But it didn’t miss his store.

Horrified, Castiel calls Benny as he rushes (as best he can on the slippery road) toward the car. When he answers, Castiel blurts, “There’s been an accident. Car crashed into my store. Come quick.” He hangs up, knowing Benny will contact whoever he needs to. He unlocks the intact front door and places Matthew down as far from the car as he can, then approaches carefully, not knowing if the car is in danger of bursting into flames. 

The door to the black car opens. “Fuck.”

Castiel watches as a man stumbles out of the vintage-looking muscle car, muttering to himself.

“Are you all right? Do you need help?”

“Fuck, my car. My car.”

 _His_ **_car_** _?_ His fear morphing into anger, Castiel spits, “Yeah, me and the _baby_ you almost _killed_ are fine, thanks.”

The man raises vacant eyes toward him. “Sorry.”

“ _Sorry?_ ”

“I—”

“The hell were you doing, going so fast? It’s only twenty-five miles per hour out there, and it’s icy!”

“I wasn’t—I dunno...someone was there—”

“Yeah, no shit someone was there.”

“I went...there was a building…”

“Yeah, my business! There’s a huge hole in my store!”

Just then, Benny comes running in, along with Zeke, two other firefighters, and a pair of paramedics. But Castiel doesn’t stop screaming. _Can’t_ stop screaming.

“You’re lucky no one was in here! You could’ve seriously hurt a lot of people!”

“My car...sorry…”

“Your fucking _car? You almost killed my son!_ ”

The man stares at him.

“Are you on drugs? What’s with you?”

One of the paramedics—Tam, by his name tag—pushes Castiel back to tend to the man that Castiel is just now noticing is bloodied. Benny pulls Castiel away. “He’s probably in some kind of shock, brother,” he says softly. “I want you to get looked at, too.”

Castiel tries to wriggle out of his hold. “I don’t need—”

“You and Matthew. Come on,” he urges him. 

Castiel follows helplessly, noting that the other paramedic is trying to soothe Matthew, who’s crying. He swears breathlessly as he takes Matthew from the seat and holds him. “Sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He kisses him tenderly, keeping his lips pressed onto his head. 

Castiel and Matthew both check out, and Castiel refuses further care. He watches as the man from the car is placed in a neck brace, covered with a blanket, and whisked away in the ambulance. 

Exhaling harshly, he asks Benny, “He gonna be all right?” 

“Yeah, I think so. The collar is a precaution. They’re gonna check him for a concussion.”

Nodding, Castiel comments, “I hope he’s okay, even if he was a giant douche.”

Benny snorts. “He was just in an accident, man. Ain’t exactly our best selves when that happens.”

Castiel shrugs.

“You know who I think that was?”

Scanning his brain for all the locals he can think of, he finally says, “No.”

“Dean Winchester.”

“Who?”

“Dean Winchester. You know, the son of John Winchester and Mary Campbell?”

Ah yes, the resort and booze magnate and the beloved actress who died years ago. He thinks this Dean Winchester was in TV, maybe, or something. Rolling his eyes, Castiel says, “A golden boy. Wonderful. No wonder he didn’t give a shit. Probably on drugs.”

Benny smirks, shaking his head. “Shock, Cas. Probable concussion.”

Before Castiel can offer a retort, Charlie rushes to him and envelops him and the baby in a hug. “Are you okay?”

“We’re fine.”

“Good.” She kisses his head, then Matthew’s.

“I didn’t pick him up, Charlie. He was crying and I didn’t pick him up,” Castiel confesses, trembling as he holds Matthew closer. “I didn’t even hear him. I was yelling at that guy, I didn’t pick him—”

“Cas, he had just started crying,” Benny interrupts him. “You’re fine, you’re fine.”

“But he just went through this _thing_...I didn’t even move out of the road, and—”

“You took care of him, right?” Charlie interrupts this time.

“I didn’t move. I didn’t pick him up.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Hang on,” Donna Hanscum, who’s just arriving, says. “Tell me, too.”

Castiel repeats the story, from the time he left the store to now. Donna and Charlie both nod and smile kindly. 

“Sounds like you did everything right,” Charlie says.

He shakes his head as he trembles harder and tears up. “Matthew—”

“Hey.” When Benny touches his bicep, Cas looks at him. “You guys are okay.”

“You did great for Matthew, Cas,” Charlie adds. 

Someone wraps a blanket around him. It helps him feel calmer, but he still feels the need to argue about his competency. “But I didn’t—”

“Seems to me you did, Cas. You protected him, got him out of harm’s way. That’s good,” Donna reassures him. “Good job, Dad.”

“I’m not—he’s not my son—”

“You called him your son when you were screaming at Winchester,” Benny smirks.

Thinking back, he remembers doing that. It was instinct, just pure emotion pouring out of him. He scowls at Benny. “Shut up,” he demands weakly.

His friends chuckle as Castiel takes a deep, grounding breath, relieved that Matthew is okay.

“Sooo, when you’re all calm and in a good head space again, maybe we’ll talk about permanency planning?” Charlie grins, a twinkle in her eye. “All the papers are ready. Just been waiting on you.”

He stares at her. “Son of a bitch.”

“What?”

“Were those adoptive parents you were telling me about placing him with even real?”

Charlie shrugs, the others laugh, and Matthew begins to fuss. Castiel strokes his cheek. “I know, honey, I’ll get you home as soon as I can.” He looks up at Charlie. “Am I allowed to take him home?”

“Of course you are. But you need someone to stay with you for the night.”

“I don’t—”

“Too late. Ana Jo’s already made plans to.”

“I need to stay and figure out how to close up the store.” He sighs. “Fuck, the weather’s shitty and I don’t know how to close up a gaping hole—”

Benny plants a meaty hand on his shoulder. “We’ll help you with that.”

“Tell you what,” Charlie says. “I’ll take Matthew home and get him fed and stuff—as your friend, not Matt’s worker. You do this, and we’ll meet up at your place.”

“And I’m drivin’ you home in your car when you’re done here,” Benny announces. “You’ve just been through somethin’ awful. Zeke will follow me and get me back.”

Castiel nods, grateful to have good friends, Matthew, and a home to go home to, piss-poor as it is. He spares a thought for the person who may be Dean Winchester as he hands the baby to Charlie and stares at the hole. From a human perspective, he hopes he’s okay, but from another human perspective, he’d very much like to kick the ass of the man who crashed, quite literally, into his life.


	3. Chapter 3

“So. A man came crashing into your life after all.”

Castiel shoots Ana Jo a dour look. “Funny.”

“I think so.”

Thai food is shared between Castiel and his three closest friends: Ana Jo, Charlie, and Anna Milton, his neighbor growing up, who insisted on coming over despite the bad weather when she heard what happened. They’re his “Trusty Rusties”—their self-dubbed moniker, thanks to their red hair—friends who have been with him through thick and thin, whether they were close or far away. Most of the time, he adores them.

Right now, not so much.

“And Dean Winchester, too,” Anna says dreamily. “Mmm, he is so hot.”

“If it’s him, he’s stupid.” 

“Stupid guys can still be hot. I mean, look at—”

“If you say me, I’m slipping a laxative into your wine.”

“I was _going_ to say my ex.”

Castiel squints, but lets go of his suspicions. “I don’t know what the hell you saw in him.”

“He had a big dick.”

Ana Jo spews wine all over the table, Charlie shudders, and Cas shakes his head. “Anna, will you ever stop judging men by the size of their dicks?”

“Listen, if they’re obsessed about dick size, then that tells me I should be paying attention, too.”

More laughter follows. 

“You don’t care about dick size, Cas?”

“No, Anna, I don’t. I care about whether they’re decent humans. I care about how they treat me.”

“Mmm, how they treat you.”

Castiel throws a wadded-up napkin at Anna’s face.

Talk devolves from there to innuendo and their sex lives, past and current. Castiel doesn’t have anything to add. He certainly doesn’t have time for a sex life now, and they already know about his one disastrous, never-again hookup, his second never-again hookup because he didn’t learn the first time, his few casual relationships, and the one significant relationship he’d rather not revisit. He could repeat the stories, sure, but it just reminds him of what he doesn’t have and it’s too depressing to think about.

Later that night, after Matthew’s feeding, changing, and near-hour attempt to get him back to sleep, Castiel slips into his bed, exhausted. Ana Jo puts her phone away, then slides down the mattress until she’s on the extra pillow Castiel keeps on his bed. It’s for symmetry, not because he hopes a partner will occupy it someday, he tells himself. Ana Jo occupies it whenever she stays over, even though she’s married. Her Foreign Services Officer husband is a sweet, understanding guy that Castiel considers a very good friend, and he knows how close he and Ana are. Of course, she would do what she wants regardless. They _all_ know that. 

“You okay?” Ana Jo asks softly.

Stowing his urge to blubber, he mutters, “Yeah.”

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

“I know.” He sighs. “What am I gonna do, Ana? I’m screwed. This is going to cost me a lot of money.”

“You have insurance. And he must. Won’t his insurance cover?”

“It’s still going to take time to repair, and I'll probably have to close, and I’ll have to be there even more just to make up the cost. I’ll be making Matthew be there even more than he already is, and—”

“You don’t have to take him all the time. We can help you.”

“No, you guys help me enough. You have your own jobs and lives. I took on the responsibility of being his fath—foster parent, and I have to deal with that. I—”

“Cas, shut up, for God’s sake. One, you’re his father, and two, we want to help you because we are your friends and we love you and Matthew.”

Despite his anxious mood, Castiel smiles. “Thanks, Ana Jo-Jo.”

She growls at the nickname, as he knew she would. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

“Mmm. And speaking of cute—”

“No.”

“Dean Winchester. If it _is_ him, the guy’s rich and that accident was totally his fault. He can pay for whatever you need to keep afloat.”

“I’d be just as happy to never see him again, whoever he is.”

“Don’t jeopardize yourself for pride, Cas. Take the money.”

“Yeah, yeah. Money is honestly the least of my worries right now.”

Yet once his friend is long asleep, Castiel continues to worry about money, about his store, about Matthew, and about his suddenly busier life that will _still_ manage to be lamer than an old racehorse. Damn Dean Winchester, or whoever this guy is. He takes comfort in knowing that at least he’ll never see the guy again. Small blessings.

* * *

The damage was bad.

Not only did the car take out the wall, but it also took out a good deal of baseboard that heated the place. Complicating matters, the building is right in the touristy part of Lupine Cove, so it has to be reconstructed in very specific ways to meet the town’s community appearance standards—wouldn’t want to lose that “quaint seaside getaway” look. 

All of this in the middle of winter.

However, the coolers still cooled, the kitchen and register area were untouched by the damage, the building was solid enough to be occupied safely, and the heat was now running (sort of), so Castiel reopened a few days after the accident. 

Castiel has been keeping the store warmer for the past several days since reopening with space heaters, and one of his regulars loaned him a couple of halogen floor lamps to light the areas where the windows used to let in natural light. He bought some modular shelving at Wal-Mart to carry the items whose usual spots were destroyed, and he put a sign on the boarded-up wall that said _Please note that drive-through service is_ _not_ _offered at Lupine Cove Market and Deli_ that made his customers laugh.

He’s been trying his best to laugh about the whole thing, too...or at least smile...or, at minimum, not cry. But it’s been difficult. He’s worried, he’s trying to keep Matthew comfortable and entertained, and he sees no day off in his future. Patience and Jack, his part-timers, are great, but they’re in college full time and work limited schedules this time of year. His other two part-timers are gone now, one having retired and one having moved away just a couple of days before the accident to care for an ill, elderly parent in Florida. With a baby in his care, he hadn’t gotten around to interviewing anyone yet, and now with all of this he can’t afford to hire. So, he’s pretty much it. Gone are the one day off a week and getting home at a decent hour. He needs the money.

Soon, he’s going to need to figure out what to do with Matthew. His friends have offered their support, but they work the same hours he does and he’s not going to make them use their vacation time for this. He’s looked into daycares, and there’s only one nearby with an opening for an infant. It’s two hundred dollars _a week_. The State would help with the cost, but he has a hard time swallowing his pride and taking their money. And if he’s honest, the bigger issue is that he doesn’t want to be separated from Matthew. He’s so little, and he’ll only have him for so long. Unfortunately, he won’t have much of a choice. He can’t have Matthew in the middle of construction. 

The construction situation is its own hell. Because the building is so old, he’s sure things will need to be brought up to code, and that probably won’t be covered by insurance. It’s going to be so much more than simply fixing the hole and making things pretty enough for the town, and it’s going to cost Castiel a lot of money in the spring. 

Frankly, though, he’s not sure he’ll last that long—he may not be able to afford daycare, or fixing the building, or _anything_ pretty soon. He tries not to imagine himself and Matthew moving in with his parents once they return. Or his brother, who’s been supportive but strangely quiet recently. Then he imagines he might move alone to his parents’ or brother’s place, because Charlie would have to take Matthew away from him, and _that_ makes the tears well up. 

What a fucking disaster it’ll all be. But he’s not there yet, so he tries to count his blessings: family, friends, Matthew, a place to live (for now), a business (for now), a beautiful town to live in (for now). Blessings.

Matthew starts to cry.

“Sorry, honey,” Castiel says, stretching his neck back to speak to the baby, who’s in his swing. “Just gotta finish this order.” Because he’s alone, he had to stop selling anything in the deli that he had to keep too close of an eye on (fries, burgers, that sort of thing), but he’s trying diligently to keep the rest of it operational. It’s a good moneymaker for him.

He manages to slide the pizzas into the oven, pick up the baby, prep his bottle while entertaining him with a rousing rendition of “Old MacDonald Had a Farm,” and ring up three customers. Just as the door opens for another customer, the timers for the bottle warmer and the pizzas go off, the phone rings, and Matthew begins screaming, too hungry to be entertained by his singing anymore. Castiel ignores the customer for now, too busy placing the baby in his bassinet, removing the bottle from the warmer, taking the pizzas out of the oven, slicing and boxing the pizzas, picking Matthew up, sticking the bottle in his mouth, answering the phone after it starts ringing a second time, jotting down the order that was called in, fumbling the cordless phone and nearly hitting the baby with it as it falls, and kicking the broken pieces of the shitty phone across the floor with a pissed-off grunt. _Great. Another expense._ He mentally adds _buy a new phone for the store_ to his growing to-do list of shit he can’t afford to do but has to.

Castiel sits in a folding chair with a deep sigh to continue feeding Matthew, not wanting to endanger him further. The next lunch order is just sandwiches, whoever came in must be looking around or is already gone, and anyone else besides Matthew who needs his attention can either wait a damn minute or kiss his ass.

“Um, excuse me, are you, um...Ca...uh, Casti...uh...Cas? Novak?”

Castiel peers up and around the display of Valentine’s Day foil-wrapped chocolate roses. His face hardens. The man’s not bloody anymore, and he looks less dopey, but there’s no denying who’s in front of him. “I’m Castiel Novak, yes.”

The man shuffles his feet and licks his lips. “My name’s Dean Winchester.”

He raises a brow and adjusts Matthew in his arms. “I know who you are. You’re the man who nearly killed us and then drove through my store.”

The man—Dean—rubs his neck. “Yeah.”

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to come and apologize.”

“Fine. Great. You can leave now.”

Dean furrows his brow. “I haven’t even apologized yet.”

“Don’t care. As you can see, I'm busy.”

“Yeah, I see that. Cute baby.”

“Yes, he is. Would’ve been considerably less cute splattered on the road because you were driving too fast.”

Dean winces and wipes his face with his hands. “I feel awful.”

“Sure you do. About your car.”

“Not about my car. I mean, that sucks, too, but—”

Castiel is beginning to lose his patience. “ _What_ do you _want_?”

“I told you.”

“Well, let’s just pretend you apologized and call it good, okay? As you can see, I have bigger things going on than listening to you say something you don’t actually mean.” He hefts the baby onto his shoulder and pats his back. 

“But—”

“I don’t need empty words, _Dean Winchester_.” He turns to Matthew. “Are you all done, or do you want some more, hmm?” He really hopes he’s done, because he has to get to that next lunch order. But of course, he’s not done. Castiel keeps his impatience to himself as he smiles at the boy and offers the bottle again. 

“They’re not empty words. Or they _wouldn’t_ be empty if you let me spit them out.”

Castiel scowls. “Yes, please, spit them out like a bad taste in your mouth, as I’m sure they are.”

A woman interrupts them to pick up her pizzas. Castiel manages a smile and a “Have a nice day” as he rocks a screeching Matthew, who’s angry about his feeding being interrupted. When the woman leaves, he offers the bottle to Matthew again.

“You’re not even giving me a chance.”

“Listen,” Castiel growls as he rocks Matthew, who’s now fussy and refusing the bottle, “I can’t afford to give _anything_ right now, not even a _shit_. Your carelessness damaged me in more ways than one.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll help however I can, I promise—”

“Well, great, that’s great. Have your people call my people. Oh, wait, I don’t _have_ any people, so have them call me. Here at Lupine Cove Market. Where I’ll be seven days a week because I don’t have enough help and now I can’t afford any. While this child in my arms is being cared for by other people that I’ll have to pay because I can’t have him here with me with all the construction shit that’ll be happening. _If_ I even get to keep him.”

Dean frowns. Matthew wails. Castiel sighs. The bell on the door rings, signaling more customers—the ones here for the lunch order he’s yet to start. 

“Hey guys, I’m sorry, gimme just a minute, okay?” Castiel turns to Dean. “I have to work now. Thanks for using the door this time.” He turns his back on Dean as he slips Matthew, still crying, in the carrier that he wears. He kisses his head and promises that he’ll attend to him better as soon as he can. He makes the sandwiches, singing a song he made up that he calls “The Fuss Bus” that serves to remind him that Matthew doesn’t cry to be a pain in the ass; he has good reasons. The men at the counter are watching him openly, and even though Castiel knows they’re probably not judging him, it certainly feels like they are. He focuses on his task, finishing the sandwiches with a healthy dose of oil, salt, and pepper, then wrapping them in wax paper. 

“Here are your Italians, guys,” Castiel says above the baby’s screeching as he slips them into a long, narrow paper bag. 

“You got a little something,” one of them says, pointing to his shirt. 

Castiel looks down. Baby poop, leaking out of Matthew’s diaper and onto his shirt. _Fan-fucking-tastic._ “Perils of parenthood,” he smiles tightly. 

They pay for their order and leave. Dean seems to be gone, too. Castiel quickly flips the lock and switches the sign to “Closed” so he can take care of Matthew and try to wash his shirt and the kangaroo carrier the best he can. His usual spare shirt is gone, used a couple of weeks ago when Matthew spit up all over him. He forgot to replace it. 

“Oh, Matthew, what am I doing?” Castiel laments, cleaning him and smearing cream on his bottom. Matthew stares at him, eyes still watery but at least not bursting. “Yeah, I don’t have a clue, either. I _can_ tell you that I’m not doing it well.” He tapes the fresh diaper on and dresses him in a new outfit, then busses him on the cheek. With a baby wipe, he dabs at the stain on his shirt, to little success. He picks Matthew up, then looks at them both in the mirror. Two blotches are streaked down his stomach like a disgusting inkblot test. “Safe to say I won’t be impressing any future daddy of yours today, huh? Not that any are coming around, but you never know.” Castiel gazes down at the baby. “Can I be your dad? Huh? I’d like to be, even though I totally suck at it. And I shouldn’t.” He snuggles him close, smelling his thick hair. When they’re like this, Castiel has a hard time remembering that Matthew needs more, deserves more than the life he can offer. “Well, discussion for another day, when I can think clearly. I love you, Matthew. Let’s go finish our very long day, shall we?”

Castiel gathers their things, glances around the bathroom to make sure he didn’t leave an obvious mess (he’ll scrub it before they leave, because his job is so damn glamorous he can hardly stand it), then strides out to find a small line of people at the deli and another small line at the register. He swears he locked the door. He rushes down the aisle. “I’m sorry, everyone, I thought—”

Dean Winchester is in his deli. Wearing a disposable mesh hair net and gloves. Making sandwiches. 

Scowling, Castiel marches up to the smiling man. “What are you doing?”

“I said I’d help any way I could. People came to your door. I opened it. Now I’m making subs.”

“ _Italians_ ,” a familiar woman says. He thinks she’s the realtor down the street.

“That’s the dumbest word for subs I’ve ever heard.”

“They’re not the same!” she insists, and of course they’re not. Everyone in Maine knows an Italian is different from a sub. Dean clearly isn’t from around here, which Castiel assumed, but that confirms it.

Rubbing his forehead, Castiel says, “I didn’t even know you were still here.”

“I moved into one of the aisles when you were waiting on those guys. Wanted to stick around for a minute, talk to you some more. Then people came while you were busy.”

Sighing, Castiel waves his hand as if to push Dean away. “Go. I can take over—”

“Nah, I got this. Debbie here”—he points his chin toward the realtor—“is teaching me what to put in these Italian things. Uh, I couldn’t operate your cash register, though. I’ll keep doing this if you wanna cash people out.”

“If I wanna cash people out...at my own store...great idea,” Castiel mutters. He cradles a sleepy Matthew against his chest as he wanders to the register. “Hey, Ed.”

“Hey, Cas,” Ed smiles, paying for his beef jerky and a six-pack of beer. Another man follows, then Mrs. Baker approaches with a basket of snacks. 

“Hi, Mildred,” Castiel smiles, knowing the basket of snacks means Mildred’s granddaughter must be coming for the weekend.

“Hi there, Cas,” she grins, voice soft and eyes twinkling. “I like your new hire.”

“Oh, that is _not_ my new hire.”

“Too bad. He’s sweeter than all this candy you got here.”

Snorting, Castiel changes the subject.

When the rush is over, Castiel places Matthew in his bassinet, then turns to Dean. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he grumbles. 

“Can’t make money if you’re not open.”

Castiel shrugs. He doesn’t think it’ll really matter in the end.

“Seems like you need a couple of part-timers. Or a full-time person.”

“Yes.”

“You should hire someone.”

Hackles rising, Castiel spits, “I believe I told you that I can’t _afford_ it. I know that’s something you can’t conceive of. But hey, if you happen to know anyone who wants to work full-time in a little store on the Maine coast in the middle of winter, please send them my way. Benefits include long days, cold, the smell of fried food clinging to their clothes, and no pesky paycheck to cash because they’ll be working for free.” 

“Sounds great. I’ll take it.”

Castiel stares at him. He really doesn’t need his cruel jokes. Just to show the guy he’s unaffected, he says with a sarcastic sneer, “Great. We open at 7:00 tomorrow. Be here at 6:30.” He salutes him, then picks up a rag to start cleaning. 

Dean, the bastard, smiles. “See you then!” With that, he leaves the store, still wearing the hair net.

Castiel slumps against the metal food prep counter. “Fuck you,” he mutters, not liking the man’s sick sense of humor at his expense.

He’s shocked when Dean Winchester is at the door of Lupine Cove Market and Deli at 6:30 the next morning. Slowly, he pulls out his phone and messages his Trusty Rusties group chat:

_Cas: Guys? I think I accidentally hired Dean Winchester._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, can’t Cas ever catch a break? (I think maybe he just did.)
> 
> So, sometimes I crack myself up, and Cas’ little sign on the boarded-up hole and his “Thanks for using the door this time” to Dean are two of those times. 😂
> 
> “The Fuss Bus” is a song I made up and sang to my kids when they were little. 
> 
> Italians are a real thing in Maine, and yes, they’re different than subs.


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here, Cas.”

Despite most people calling him Cas, it irks Castiel that Dean, the man who nearly killed him, assumes the familiarity is okay. He chooses not to comment on it, instead unlocking the store and ushering Dean inside. He follows, laden with baby and baby accessories. 

“You need help?”

Castiel throws him a dark look from where he’s just dropped all of his baggage (except for the baby, of course). “I’ve got it, thanks.”

Dean licks his lip and grimaces. “Sorry. Little late on the offer.”

He shakes it off. “Are you really here to work?”

“Yeah? I said I would, and here I am.”

“For how long?”

“As long as you need me.”

Castiel squints. “Is this some sort of publicity stunt? ‘Good Guy Dean Winchester Selflessly Volunteers to Work for Cash-Strapped Foster Dad in Quaint Maine Town’? Because if it is, you can walk your ass out the damn door right now. I have real-life shit to do.”

“You’re his foster dad?”

Castiel turns his attention to Matthew. “Yes.”

“You’re good with him.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Castiel huffs. “I believe all you saw yesterday was him crying and me not being able to take care of him.”

“Not true. You took good care of him. Yeah, he cried some, but, you know, babies do that. And you didn’t lose your cool. I mean, not with him, anyway.” He flashes a cocky grin at the jibe that morphs into something softer. “I thought he was yours. Same dark hair, same attitude. Lot of love between you.”

“Yeah, well.” He sighs. “I need to get ready for the day. Excuse me.” 

He attempts to pass Dean, but a hand on his arm stops him. “Wait!”

“What?”

“This...this isn’t a publicity thing. My publicist doesn’t even know I'm here.”

Squinting at him as he attempts to parse out the truth, he finally asks, “Why _are_ you here? This is just a dinky mom-and-pop store, minus the mom. You must...have a life. You must have important things to do, places to be.”

“Not really. Not more important than this.”

Castiel shakes his head, staring blankly at the floor. “I’m not a charity case, Winchester. I may be going broke, but I have my pride, okay?” 

He hears Dean sigh. “Maybe I have some pride, too,” he murmurs. “Or I want to, anyway.”

Their eyes meet. Castiel doesn’t know much about Dean, but what he’s seen in his internet research (that he tried to talk himself out of but couldn’t) is that the man has lived a charmed, exciting life, full of action and glamour and ease. He has no idea why Dean would want to leave that, given how happy he looked in all the paparazzi photos, but there’s a sincerity in Dean’s eyes that’s hard to dismiss, no matter how pissed off he is at the man. 

And hell, Dean does sort of owe him.

“You know how to make coffee?”

“Yeah. Who doesn’t?”

“Me, when I first started working here. Carafes are over there, labeled with what goes in them. Coffee is in that cabinet. People will be rolling in soon, so wash up and get started.”

Dean smiles so widely, so brightly, it’s unsettling. Why the hell he’d be so excited about making coffee for people who are barely awake is beyond him, but whatever. 

To his complete lack of surprise, one of his Trusty Rusties comes to check out the new “employee” right away. Ana Jo, stopping in for her usual coffee before heading to her medical practice, is on the offensive as soon as she places her cup down on the counter.

“You the new guy? Dean?”

“That’s me,” Dean says. He nods at her coffee. “Will that be all?”

“I could be talked into a breakfast sandwich.”

“Ana—”

“Okay.” Dean looks toward the dark kitchen. “Uh, just gotta open stuff up—”

“Dean, we don’t have breakfast sandwiches. Ana Jo is yanking your chain.”

She smirks. Dean flushes (in embarrassment, Castiel thinks).

“Stop it, Ana.”

She appears to withdraw, but then hits Dean sharply with, “So, how long is your community service? That's why you’re doing this, right? Or are you doing this to try to avoid all that? Surprised you didn’t send someone to do this for you if that’s the case. Or just pay someone off.”

Dean pales then, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He almost feels bad for the guy. “Ana Jo, _enough_. Don’t harass my employees.”

She heaves a large, put-upon sigh. “ _Fine_.” She turns to Dean. “But do _not_ leave Cas high and dry. You _owe him_ for all that damage you caused, and you don’t get to squirm out of it by working here. He needs cash money, honey.”

More customers enter the store. Not wanting anyone else to witness a scene and start gossiping, Castiel covers his face and mutters, “Ana, I have a mom, thanks. Just take your coffee. On the house.”

“On the house, my ass.” She slaps a five on the counter—much more than what’s needed—then grabs Castiel by the shirt, tugs him forward, and kisses him hard on each cheek. “One for you and one for Matthew,” she explains. “Call you later, sweetie.” She grabs her coffee and breezes out the door. 

Dean is quiet, observing Castiel at the register as he waits on three more customers. When there’s a lull in the line, Castiel turns toward him, a reluctant but necessary apology on his lips. “About earlier—”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. I expected a lot of different reactions. I have a thick skin.”

The pale color of his face and the troubled look in his eyes casts doubt on that assertion, but Castiel doesn’t dispute it for now. “Well, still. She was out of line. I’ll talk to her.”

“It’s, uh, it’s all good. I deserved it.”

His words make Castiel uncomfortable, “deserved” or not. “You’ve done nothing to her.”

“No, but I did something to you, and she, uh, clearly loves you, so.”

Despite himself, Castiel chuckles. “Too much, to your detriment. She’s one of my best friends, as well as Matthew’s physician.”

“Ohhh,” Dean exhales, color returning a bit to his cheeks. “That, uh...yeah, that makes sense.”

They’re interrupted by a customer, and this time the air is more relaxed between them as he shows Dean how to find the code for the bananas.

Between customers, they clean the kitchen in anticipation of the lunchtime orders that will start in a couple of hours. They’re quiet other than when Dean asks questions. It’s...strange, but not _horrible_.

Matthew wakes as they’re finishing their cleaning, ready for a change and feeding.

“Dean, I just need to lock up for a bit to change him,” Castiel explains as he kisses the fussing baby. “Do you mind flipping the sign?”

“No need, I got it.”

Castiel glances at the clock. If he’s all business and doesn’t get too wrapped up in Matthew’s gummy grins, he can probably be out fairly quickly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, no problem. What’s the point of having help if you don’t use it?”

Warily, he agrees to keep the store open and speed-walks to the bathroom.

Of course, Matthew’s diaper is a little fuller than he’d hoped, and his outfit got wet. He sighs as he changes both diaper and damp clothes, going as quickly as he can and promising him he’ll make it up to him when they’re back in the store area. 

When he’s clean, Castiel washes up, then heads back into the store. As he approaches the front, he spies Anna strolling in, her red hair in a ponytail sticking out of the top of a knitted hat that’s specifically designed for it.

“Welcome to Lupine Cove Market and Deli,” Dean greets her as she approaches the register. “Something I can help you with?”

Anna eyes Dean like a lion eyes raw meat. He knows she loves him and is firmly on his side, but she tends to think with her hormones when it comes to men, and Dean is one hell of an attractive man, objectively speaking. He hangs back and watches.

“I’m sure there’s plenty you can help me with.” 

Castiel hears the flirtiness in her voice and rolls his eyes with a fond smirk.

“Uhhh...okay, I’ll try. I’m new, so please be patient. It might take me a minute.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be very patient and gentle with you, if that’s the way you like it.” 

Dean laughs, but it’s more of a nervous titter. Castiel decides he needs to intervene before this becomes a case of sexual harassment, if it hasn’t already. “Anna, back off.”

“Oh hey, Cas,” she drawls. 

He laughs. “You’re a brat. Cut it out. Do your flirting outside of my store, please.” He shakes his head and turns to Dean, who looks both confused and relieved. “Dean, this is one of my other dear friends, Anna.” 

“Are all your friends redheaded women named Anna?”

“No, that’s just a happy coincidence. Although Charlie is a redheaded woman, too.”

“Huh.”

“And Anna, this is Dean, who I’ll introduce to you formally since it seems you didn’t bother to get his name or tell him yours.”

“Who needs names?”

“Anna.”

She cackles. 

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Buy something or get out. This isn’t a nightclub,” he teases, wandering to the counter to mix Matthew’s bottle. 

Dean sidles up to him, staying close.

“You okay?” Castiel asks, side-eyeing the nervous man.

“Yeah, yeah, just...I stay out of trouble over here.”

“You’re not in trouble with me.”

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

Castiel barks a laugh. “Fair.” 

The (brand-new) phone rings just as a customer approaches the register. 

“Phone or register, Dean?”

Dean glances over at Anna, who’s hovering by the counter, then dives for the phone. Castiel suppresses a smile.

Anna leaves after buying an energy drink and a bag of veggie straws that he stocks just for her. Castiel feeds Matthew, then takes advantage of the mid-morning lull to play with him. He sits on the floor, Matthew propped against his thighs, and shakes a rattle just out of reach of his tiny hands. Matthew tracks the movement, then swipes at it. They do this a few times until they’re holding it together. 

“Concert time!” Castiel murmurs to the boy, smiling widely at him. Softly, he sings the chorus to “Lean on Me,” helping Matthew shake the rattle in time. He repeats the chorus, this time clapping Matthew’s hands together to the beat. 

The bell rings, signaling another customer. “Sorry, kiddo, we gotta get up.”

Above him, Dean says, “Nah, stay.” 

“It happens all the time, I can—”

“No, really. I’ll holler if I need help. Spend time with him.”

Castiel raises his eyes to Dean. He has the softest look Castiel has ever seen on him—or anyone, really. “Okay.”

He watches Dean round the corner, a smile lingering on his face. Castiel feels his own lips reluctantly curling upward.

“Oh God, are you another one of Cas’ friends?”

Castiel recognizes Charlie’s laugh immediately. “Oh my gosh, Charlie’s here, Matthew! Wanna go see Charlie?”

Matthew smiles. 

“He’s already met the others,” Castiel tells Charlie as he approaches the counter. 

“I heard. How’d you do, Dean?”

“Not well, I don’t think.”

“Well, when you nearly kill two people and then make a local business a drive-through, people aren’t always friendly afterward.”

“Charlie—”

“No, I know, and I really am sorry.”

“It’s kind of personal to me.”

“I—I know.”

Castiel sighs. “Dean, this is Charlie, my third and last red-headed best friend. She’s also Matthew’s guardian and caseworker.”

“For his foster care thing?”

Castiel winces. He hates the reminder of the whole “foster care thing” sometimes. “Yes.”

Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Figures I’ve not only screwed up your life, but also managed to piss off the most important people in your life and your son’s life.”

The guy does seem properly regretful. Castiel finds it harder to hang onto his anger, even though he’s no better off than before. “Well, he’s not my son—”

“Oh please, stop it,” Charlie grumbles, turning her attention away from Dean. “Gimme baby love.”

Castiel hands Matthew over. Charlie coos and squeaks at him. Dean answers the ringing phone, giving Castiel a minute with Charlie privately. 

“I know you’re all worried, but you’re making the guy nervous.”

“He should be nervous.”

“I understand that, but…” He’s not sure what he wants to say next. _He’s my employee? He’s trying? He doesn’t seem so bad?_ He’s only known the guy twenty-four hours. 

“But what?”

“I don’t know. Just—I have to work here, and I need to keep him happy enough so I’ll get what I need to repair the place, okay?”

“He owes you that legally.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, just...we don’t need to stoop low, okay? We’re better than that. We can...be nice until he gives us a reason not to be.”

“A reason like nearly killing you guys and putting a hole in your business?”

Castiel, frustrated, shakes his head and throws his hands in the air as he rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, besides that.”

“Excuse me, Cas?” Dean interrupts them, standing timidly to his left. “There’s a lunch order that came in. I can try to start it if you want?”

“I’ll show you,” Castiel says. “Charlie, you got him?”

“Of course!”

“Thanks. Come with me, Dean.”

Noontime is busier than usual. Castiel guesses it’s because word got out about Dean, but he’s not complaining. He could use the extra business, as long as it’s not disruptive. Charlie sticks around for a while but doesn’t give Dean any more shit, for which Castiel is grateful. After the lunch rush, Castiel gives Dean a lunch break while he gets Matthew down for a nap. He takes his own lunch right at the counter without thought, used to not getting an actual “break.” 

Castiel spends the early afternoon teaching his new employee how to shut down the kitchen, making sure he uses the proper sanitation procedures he taught him earlier. Though he doesn’t actually expect Dean to stay, he realizes that he should probably show him the staff orientation videos just to say he did, so he sets him up with a couple of them in the breakroom in the back that he never uses. He keeps himself busy with Matthew, with cleaning, and with customers that come in. Some of them glance around with disappointed looks, particularly the high schoolers and twenty-somethings, while others don’t seem to see anything amiss. Some chat Castiel up, while others merely make their transactions and go. It’s a typical afternoon, save for the large reminder of his troubles near the entrance. He wonders if Dean saw the drive-through sign he put up on the boards.

The next time Castiel looks at the clock, it’s 4:00. He gasps. He should’ve let Dean go a half-hour ago, since he was here so early. He also forgot to give him his fifteen-minute breaks. This entire day has been so fucked up, Castiel thinks with a shake of his head. With Matthew snug in the carrier, Castiel walks down the aisle and pokes his head into the back. “Dean?”

Dean looks up from the screen of Castiel’s old laptop, where the credits are rolling for the last video. “Yeah? Need help? I was just wrapping up my notes, making ‘em easier to read.”

 _He took notes? Who does that?_ “Uh, no, no, I just wanted to let you know it’s time for you to go.”

“Go? It’s not closing time yet.”

“I know, but you’ve been here since 6:30. Even with your lunch break, you’re over your time, and that could get me into trouble.”

“Oh. I didn’t...sorry, okay. Who’s here to relieve you?”

Castiel can’t help a surprised snort. “No one. Owners don’t get relieved.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because we own the place. Owning a business is like having a baby—it’s your responsibility 24/7.”

“Yeah, but parents get breaks sometimes. Babysitters or whatever.”

“Huh.” Castiel yawns. He rubs his burning eyes with one hand and Matthew’s head with the other. Matthew still wakes for a feeding at night, and he always feels the effects of it by now. “Yeah, occasionally, some do.” Not him, but that’s his own fault.

“So business owners should get a break, too.”

“I do, sometimes. I take a day off a week. Or, I did.”

Dean’s face falls.

“I will again, I’m sure.” _Many, many days off once I can’t keep the place open anymore_ , he doesn’t say. “Okay, time to go. Thanks for your help today. You did a great job.”

“I did? Really?”

Castiel smiles despite himself, because Dean _did_ do a great job and because he looks so damn stunned at the compliment. “You did. You’re a quick learner.”

Dean smiles shyly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now get out.”

He hears Dean laugh as he backs out of the doorway.

“I feel bad for leaving you,” Dean says a few minutes later. He was dawdling around the counter while Castiel chatted with the elderly couple who comes in and buys two candy bars and their scratch tickets every Tuesday as their “treat” to each other. Castiel figured he was just waiting around to tell him _H_ _ey, it was fun to live like a pauper for a day, but I’m gonna go back to being a prince now_.

“You don’t have to feel bad. You put in your time—more than, actually. I’m used to being alone.” He refrains from rolling his eyes at himself at the statement that could easily apply to his personal life, too.

“Yeah, well, it still doesn’t feel right.”

Castiel shrugs. “C’est la vie. Have a good night, Dean.”

Dean, still hesitant, heads toward the door. “Yeah, okay.” He stops and wanders back toward Castiel. “Bye, little guy,” he whispers to a drowsy Matthew on Castiel’s chest. “See you tomorrow.” Glancing up, he adds, “Same time, Cas?”

“You’re coming back?”

“If it’s okay with you. I mean, I took the job. Hope you don’t wanna fire me already.” He rubs at the back of his neck. It seems to be a sign of nervousness.

“I didn’t expect you to even show up. I thought you were being facetious.”

“Well, I wasn’t. So, tomorrow?”

Castiel shakes his head in confusion. “Sure, if you want.”

“Great! Same time?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. See you tomorrow!” He smiles brightly as he strides out the door.

Castiel stares at the door long after it’s closed. This day has been full of surprises—Dean making all the coffee efficiently, Dean bringing him a cup of tea without even telling him he liked the stuff (“You said you didn’t know how to make coffee before, so I guessed you don’t drink it”), Dean laughing as he struggled to learn the cash register, Dean acknowledging who he was but asking people not to make a big deal of it, Dean offering to take Matthew so he could go to the bathroom by himself (which he didn’t take him up on, but the offer was nice), Dean being a decent conversationalist, Dean saying he’s going to come back tomorrow. 

But the biggest surprise of the entire day is that Castiel might not mind if Dean does.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean came back again. And again. 

He met Patience on her usual Wednesday shift. In addition to working on Sundays, she works 11:00 to 6:00 every Wednesday because they have a weekly sale on Italians. She was cool to Dean at first, but warmed up quickly.

He met Jack on Thursday. Jack works noon to close on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Jack liked him immediately, because Jack likes almost everyone immediately and doesn’t hold anything against anyone. 

Today is Friday, and Castiel is exhausted. He was up a good deal of the night tending to Matthew, who was congested and couldn’t get comfortable. These are the days he wishes he’d developed a taste for coffee. His partner in his only relationship that lasted more than a couple of months loved coffee, drank it like others drink water. Zee tried to get him to drink it, made it for him all sorts of ways, but it was always bitter and burnt. (“It’s perfect Parisian coffee!” Zee told him. Having never been to Paris, Castiel wouldn’t know. He did know it was awful.)

Dean waits for him at the door, shivering, his nose, cheeks, and ears flaming red from the cold. When Castiel pulls in, Dean hurries across the street to meet him. “You can wait in your car,” Castiel tells him, eyeing the Subaru Outback with Maine plates. Must be a rental. “You don’t have to wait outside.”

Dean shrugs and offers no explanation for his behavior. Instead, he opens the back door and grabs Matthew’s diaper bag and Castiel’s messenger bag, which he only brings on Fridays. Friday is his office day. He lets Jack handle the front while he pays the bills, submits payroll, does ordering, that sort of thing. It’s his one respite other than his only day off (except that days off are canceled for now).

“Extra bag today,” Dean comments.

“Yeah. Paperwork. Speaking of, I need you to complete some paperwork for me.”

“All right. Shit, it’s cold out here.”

“You’re not exactly dressed for coastal Maine winters.”

“Guess not. Gotta get myself to L.L. Bean or somethin’, huh? That’s what all you guys wear, right?”

Castiel doesn’t comment on that. He knows plenty of locals who do, but his own coat is from Wal-Mart. L.L. Bean’s products are too expensive for his wallet (though he did buy Matthew’s bunting there because he wanted him to have the best). “Their store is under an hour from here. There are lots of shops in Freeport. You could make a day of it.”

“Hmm. I do like some nice duds.”

Yes. Castiel had noticed his designer jeans and soft-as-silk sweaters. He cringed when Dean snagged one of his sweaters on a corner shelf yesterday. 

Castiel unlocks the door and heads inside with Matthew, Dean following. As Castiel unpacks, Dean gets right to work on the coffee without being told. He really has been a good worker. Castiel wonders when the novelty will wear off.

The day starts off as it usually does—their usual customers with their usual purchases, with a smattering of new faces thrown in. Ana Jo greets Dean kindly today, nodding her head and smiling at him in acknowledgement as she takes Matthew for a morning cuddle. Benny and Zeke stop by with Tam, one of the paramedics who helped Dean. It’s the first time they’ve come in when Dean’s been there. Dean doesn’t remember them much. The shock and his concussion must have been worse than Castiel realized. It would explain his babbling about his car at the scene, something he hasn’t even mentioned since the first time he stepped foot in the store. A few of the regulars chat Dean up. He’s friendly, but sticks to his job and politely evades requests for photos, as he’s done all week.

By 9:30, business has slowed down. Dean is dusting the canned goods when Castiel approaches him. “Paperwork,” he says, handing him tax and employment forms. “If you could fill them out now, I’d appreciate it. I’d like to deal with them this afternoon.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.”

That done, Castiel takes over Dean’s job. Strangely, he finds himself humming. He brushes it off as an automatic thing, something done without thought because he has Matthew snuggled up against him. It can’t be because he’s happy. He doesn’t have much to be happy about. He’s exhausted, he’s meeting with the contractor today, he’s going to be alone until the store closes at 8:00 tonight because Jack called out sick half an hour ago and Patience is in Massachusetts visiting her grandmother, he has bills to pay, and he’s working with the guy who threw him into at least some of the peril he’s currently in. And yet, it could be worse, he thinks as he kisses Matthew’s head. He still has Matthew, he isn’t homeless or starving yet, and he has people who will help him if he asks. 

And speaking of that, he should ask if someone can watch Matthew. He hates asking, but he doesn’t want to have him here for fourteen hours, especially when he’s not feeling well. Castiel pulls out his phone, replacing the space in his pocket with the blue rag. He texts Charlie, who can’t because she’s transporting a kid to a kinship placement in Lubec, then heading to her girlfriend’s place for the weekend. He tries Ana Jo, but she’s the late coverage at the clinic tonight. He even tries Anna, who loves Matthew but is usually his last resort among his best friends because she doesn’t really like babies all that much (“They’re so _messy,_ ” she says, and doesn’t he know it). She says she will, but she clearly has a cold, too, so Castiel tells her to rest up instead. His parents are in Arizona for the winter, so they’re out. 

That leaves his brother. Gabriel has visited many times, but has never watched Matthew on his own before. Between his work schedule and his love interest, he hasn’t had much time, and Castiel hasn’t wanted to impose. But since he’s desperate, he texts:

_Cas 9:57am: Would you be able to pick up Matthew at the store and watch him tonight? 5 or 6 til around 8:45? I have to stay. Jack is sick._

A short time later, he gets:

_Gabriel 10:01am: Yeah, sure, I’ll watch the little poop factory._

_Cas 10:01am: Never mind._

_Gabriel 10:02am: I’m just kidding. Yes, I’ll watch my nephew._

Castiel ignores the “nephew” thing and simply texts back _Thanks_ as Dean approaches.

“All set.” He hands him the paperwork. 

“Thank you.”

“I’ll get back to work.” He smiles and takes the rag from Castiel’s pocket, humming as he moves down the aisle. 

_He’s humming, too. Huh._

Castiel shrugs as Matthew starts to snuffle and whine. “I know, baby,” he coos as he strokes his head.

The contractor arrives at 10:30. Castiel greets Bobby Singer as he enters. He’s known Bobby most of his life. He’s a little more expensive, but he and his crew have been around a long time and they do good work.

“Heya Castiel. How’s the kid?”

“Pretty good.” He smiles down at Matthew.

“Good. So you know this thing’s gonna be more expensive ‘cause of the appearance standards,” Bobby says.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You need a lot of updating that your daddy didn’t wanna do.”

“I know.”

“Can’t start this now ‘cause of the weather,” Bobby warns him. Castiel frowns, and Bobby continues, “Gotta wait ‘til the weather warms enough for stuff to set properly. ‘Less you wanna pay out the keister for tents and heaters runnin’ near constantly.”

He really can’t afford to pay out the _anything_ , but certainly not for additional costs that the insurance will likely refuse. “Yeah, okay.”

“All right. Let’s take a walk.”

Bobby points out the must-dos, should-dos, and nice-to-dos. The must-dos are big—replacing the wall, obviously, with the heating that goes with it as well as the windows, the siding, the drywall, the painting, and the shelving. Castiel says he could paint, at least. Bobby reminds him gruffly that he has “about 10,001 other things to do, and is that worth the few bucks you’re gonna save?” It probably isn’t, but Castiel won’t give up the idea just yet. Bobby then starts talking about the should-dos and the nice-to-dos. He throws out words like “efficiency” and “accessibility” and “flow,” but all Castiel hears is “money.” 

“All right. Put that baby down for a minute so you can come outside. We gotta talk about some stuff out there.”

“I can’t just leave him,” Castiel frowns. Matthew’s arms flail as he rubs his face against Castiel’s chest. 

“You got that guy over there to watch him.”

“Dean isn’t my babysitter—”

“I don’t mind, Cas.”

Castiel turns to Dean, who’s leaning against one of the endcaps. “It’s not your job.”

“I know, but I don’t mind. Besides, you don’t wanna bring him outside. He’s sick.” As Castiel mulls it over, he adds, “I mean, I know you probably don’t trust me, but you can put him in his little bouncy seat and I’ll just eyeball him if you want. I can even Facetime you while you’re outside so you can see what we’re doing in here.”

He _wants_ to distrust him, _wants_ to be angry, but Dean keeps giving him reasons not to, and it’s disconcerting. He does have a good excuse, though. “It’s—um, I can’t. Charlie has to approve you. Foster care thing.”

“Oh. Right. Gotcha.” Dean licks his lips and straightens. “Well, I can get his puffy suit thing—”

“But I think we could get around it with the video chat thing you suggested. On Messenger. I don’t have Facetime.”

“Are you sure?”

“I...yeah. Yeah. We’ll only be a few minutes anyway.”

Dean beams. He steps forward and introduces himself to Bobby as Castiel places Matthew in his bouncy seat. “Be right back, love.” He strokes his cheek, then wipes his nose with a soft tissue from his pocket. “Be good for Dean, okay?”

Matthew’s nose bubbles. 

“Eww,” Castiel teases with a smile, though it is rather disgusting. Babies are _not_ the clean, sweet-smelling creatures that ads would have you believe. He wipes his nose again, then stands. Dean, right beside him, scooches down next to Matthew and fiddles with his phone until he seems to find what he wants with a smile. Castiel’s phone chimes with a request to video chat on his Messenger account for the store. He answers it, smiling at real-life Dean while real-life Dean points his phone toward Matthew. 

Castiel follows Bobby outside. He tries to pay attention, but it’s all “blah-blah-money-blah-blah” to him and he knows it’ll all be written up in the estimate anyway, so he lets his mind drift. Every so often, he peeks at the cracked screen of his phone, where he sees Dean chatting with Matthew. Matthew stares at him, mostly, though he does catch a smile once. 

As they’re wrapping up their conversation, Castiel hears singing from his phone. He smirks at the screen. “Look at this,” he says to Bobby. 

Dean is sitting on the floor. They can’t see him, but he appears to be directly in front of Matthew. The sweet boy, despite his fatigue and general feeling of malaise, is smiling widely. Of course, Castiel is, too, listening to Dean’s enthusiastic rendition of “Joy to the World” (or, as he still calls it from his childhood, “Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog”). Dean leans in from time to time, and he appears to be bouncing and moving his free hand around, flapping it like a fish at the “Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea” line. He changes lyrics as appropriate. Bobby, known to be a cantankerous sort, cracks a smile. Castiel laughs. Dean doesn’t seem to notice, but Matthew does, his eyes flicking to the screen.

And then, just as Dean is launching into the outro, Matthew laughs, too.

“He laughed! Oh my God!” Castiel darts into the store, heedless of whether they're actually done their meeting or not. He practically slides into Dean’s side as he lands on his knees. “Whatever you just did, do it again!” he demands.

“I just made a face…” Dean explains. He makes the face again. Castiel looks at Dean and laughs, then looks at Matthew, still laughing. Matthew giggles.

Castiel is certain he’s never been so excited. “He laughed! You made him laugh!”

“Is that the first time?”

“Yes! Oh, Matthew, honey!” He scoops him into his arms, then turns to Dean, who’s watching them and smiling as big as he is. “Thank you for being so great with him.”

“No problem.” He bites his lips. “Um, I’m gonna go wait on the guy who just came in.”

Castiel nods, still reveling in Matthew’s accomplishment and not even a little upset that it was Dean Winchester who made it happen.

* * *

It’s 3:25, and Castiel is crashing hard. He finally got Matthew to eat enough to satisfy his belly, and he’s pretty sure he might sleep for a solid couple of hours, which he hasn’t done all day. That would be fantastic. Castiel’s been too busy taking care of Matthew and the store to even think about looking at the bills. He has to get payroll done, at minimum, so he’s really hoping not to have any interruptions for a few minutes.

The bell on the door rings. _So much for that._ He looks up, ready to issue his standard greeting, when he sees it’s his brother, who’s holding the door open for someone behind him.

“Cas!” Gabriel greets him—too loudly, too enthusiastically. 

“Quiet down,” Castiel hisses. He points to Matthew in his swing. “He _just_ fell asleep.”

Gabriel throws his hands up in a silent apology. “Figured I could grab him early for you.”

“God, that would be great. Just a minute.” He peers around Gabriel at the man who followed Gabe in, hanging back by the door. He’s one of their local celebrities, a _New York Times_ bestselling author and year-round resident. The man is quiet and mostly keeps to himself, though he’s not unfriendly. Castiel is familiar with him from his occasional stops for kombucha and gum. Lots of gum. He treats him like any other customer, not acknowledging that he even knows who the guy is. “May I help you?”

The man looks surprised. “Oh, um, I’m all set, thanks.”

Castiel nods, though he’s a bit puzzled. He’s interrupted in his scrutiny of the man when his brother asks, “Is Dean here?”

Focusing his eyes on Gabriel again, he answers, “Yes, he’s just finishing up with today’s delivery. Why?”

“Wanted to meet the new guy in town.” His mouth spreads into a wide, Cheshire cat grin.

“Leave him alone, Gabriel.”

“What?”

“Whether you’re here to harass him for his role in my current situation or ogle him for a role in your latest movie, he’s here to work, so let him be.” Gabriel has had a fair amount of success making independent films, most of which film in Maine. Thankfully, they’re all clean ones. Now.

“Whoa, wait. Are you _defending_ the guy you were so pissed off at?” his brother smirks. When he growls, Gabriel adds, “Listen, it’s awesome that you’re getting along!”

“I’m simply saying that he works here, and he’s not here for your...amusement.” 

“He’s off in a minute, though, right? Can I amuse myself then?”

His brows furrowing, Castiel asks, “How do you know that?”

“Uh…”

“Hey, Cas, I'm done with the delivery,” Dean calls from the aisle as he approaches. “I know my time’s up, but really, I don’t mind staying if—” He freezes. “Sammy? What’re you doing here?”

Castiel’s head swivels toward “Sammy”—Sam Wesson, the author. Dean had mentioned a brother named Sam, but Castiel never suspected…

“Heh—uh, hey, Dean.” Sam steps closer to Gabriel. 

“Heeeeey. What’s going on?”

Gabriel reaches behind him and catches Sam’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. And with sudden clarity, Castiel knows exactly what’s going on.

“You’re dating,” Castiel murmurs before his voice rises, anger surging through his veins. “You’re _dating_ the brother of the guy who crashed into my business and you didn’t _tell_ me?”

“Uh, yeah, well—”

Dean cuts off Gabriel as he addresses Sam. “Wh—dude, I’ve been staying with you since this all happened, and you never _once_ thought to tell me that the “Gabe” you’ve been dating is the brother of the guy whose life I screwed up? My _boss_?”

Castiel watches the scene unfold before him. _So Dean didn’t know, either._ The thought makes him feel slightly better. About Dean, anyway. 

Unless this whole thing is some stupid act for his benefit. 

But Castiel doesn’t think so, not with the way Dean is reaming out his brother and Gabriel is defending his boyfriend.

A headache is building behind his forehead, burning his already-short fuse even faster. “All right, enough!” he growls, low enough to hopefully keep the baby asleep. He spins on Gabriel. “Why didn’t you say anything when this happened?”

“‘Cause I was finally ready to introduce you guys, and then the accident happened and I didn’t want your opinion of his brother to color your opinion of Sam.”

“So you hid it. That’s—yeah, great, great plan, Gabriel. Because clearly I’m so much less pissed off now.”

“Well, you’re not ready to murder Dean, so yeah, I think this is better!”

Castiel squints.

“And what’s your excuse?” Dean asks Sam, folding his arms. 

“I wanted you to meet him, but Gabe was gone when you were here those few days. He only got back the day you...you know. And then I was taking care of you, so he stayed back...and after that, we thought it would be awkward.”

“And this _isn’t_ awkward?”

“Less awkward!”

“Less awkward. You’re awkward, Sam.” Dean pinches between his brows. Perhaps Castiel’s headache is catching.

“We’re sorry, guys,” Gabriel says. “We just—we’re happy and we wanted our brothers to know our brothers, you know? But shit happened, and—”

Matthew starts crying, burning Castiel’s fuse to ash. “Yeah, _shit happened_. Go away. Everybody, just...go away.”

“Cas—”

“ _Go_ , Gabriel. Before a customer walks in on this fucking soap opera.”

“But Matthew—”

“No,” Castiel spits. “I will keep him. Leave.”

He turns his back on all of them, fed up. Taking a deep breath, he puts on a soft face and voice for Matthew. “I’m sorry, honey,” he coos. He steadfastly refuses to turn around, and a minute later, the bell on the door rings and footsteps are retreating.

“You fucking assholes,” he hears Dean say as the door closes. He can’t disagree.

* * *

Castiel sort of wishes he’d foisted Matthew upon his brother.

The fussiness and the last two godawful diapers would’ve been his punishment.

But better that Matthew’s with him instead of someone he doesn’t know as well, Castiel reminds himself. He thought about closing early, but business has been steady and he really can’t afford to. 

When there’s a break in the traffic, he sits and drinks a tiny cup of microwavable tomato soup from the shelf, knowing he may or may not have time for anything more. 

He did manage to get payroll done, at least. The rest of the bills and the ordering would have to wait until the weekend, whether he does them here or at home. Work and home are practically one and the same these days, anyway, he thinks. 

Matthew whines, miserable from lack of sleep and his congestion. It breaks Castiel’s heart. He picks him up and snuggles him, offering an apology for everything he can think of—his illness, being raised in a store, the crappy rental where he doesn’t even have his own room, Castiel’s ineptness in general. He wipes Matthew’s nose and tries not to cry right along with him.

When the bell rings to signal a new customer, Castiel gathers his faculties and stands to greet—Dean. “What are you doing here?” he frowns.

“Shopping,” he answers too casually. He approaches the counter, making faces at Matthew that quiet the whining, if only briefly. Flicking his eyes up, Dean asks, “You okay?”

He could be angry at Dean somehow, but he’s not—not about this, anyway. “I guess.”

“’Bout as okay as you’re gonna get right now, huh?”

“Huh. Yeah.” 

Matthew revs up again, his whines escalating into sobs. 

“Shh, honey,” Castiel whispers. “I know you’re tired, sweetheart. I know.”

“You wanna take him out back for a few, get him away from the lights and activity? I’ll watch the front for you.”

“Can’t. You worked overtime this week.”

“So what?”

“So I can’t.”

“Okay, soooo...what if you just go to the back and I’ll hang out, and if someone comes in, I’ll text you to come out?”

Dean wouldn’t _actually_ be working, but the thought still makes Castiel uncomfortable. “I can’t.”

“See, I knew he learned his stubbornness from you.”

Despite his fragile grip on his sanity, Castiel manages a smile. “How about you? Are you okay?”

Dean pauses, looking taken aback. He turns his eyes to the floor. “Yeah, okay. I mean, um, yeah. Pretty okay.”

“Good.”

When Dean meets his eyes, there’s surprise in them that surely matches Castiel’s own feeling of surprise. He’s not supposed to be glad that Dean is okay. But he is.

A hesitant, lopsided smile alights on Dean’s face. “You sure I can’t do something to help you? Make things better for you?”

“No. Not unless you want to pull out ‘Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog’ again,” Castiel jokes as he rubs his hand along Matthew’s back.

“That might be a little too upbeat,” Dean grins softly, his eyes falling to Matthew. “Got something else, though.” He comes behind the counter and turns off the fluorescent light above the register area. Then, his eyes hesitating on Cas’ for a moment before they dart to Matthew, he clears his throat and sings, “ _Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter_. _Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here._ ”

Castiel closes his eyes and hums as Dean sings “Here Comes the Sun.” He remembers his elementary school gym teacher, an old stalwart named Mrs. Lebrun, playing this song at the end of every class as their cooldown. It was old even then, and Castiel had no idea that a legendary band sang it. He only knew that it was soothing. It brings back good memories. 

Gradually, Matthew quiets, and by the end of the song, he’s heavy on Castiel’s shoulder. Dean catches his eye and mouths “sleeping” with two thumbs up. Castiel doesn’t dare put him down yet, but he does mouth “thank you” in return. Dean smiles that same shy smile as when Castiel complimented him on his work. It’s a smile of accomplishment, perhaps, or pride. It looks good on him. He leaves with a raise of his hand, the smile still on his face.

It’s only when Castiel is driving home, Matthew still sleeping soundly, that he realizes Dean didn’t do any shopping at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never written Sam/Gabe and never planned to, but my story said differently, so here they are. 😂 
> 
> Dean sings “Joy to the World” by Three Dog Night to Matthew. 
> 
> The song “Here Comes the Sun” is by the Beatles. Cas’ memory of it is my memory, except for the name of the gym teacher. I didn’t know it was a song by a famous band until many years later. 
> 
> Soooo...Cas seems to be warming up to Dean, no?


	6. Chapter 6

Morning comes way too early, even though the store doesn’t open until 8:00 on weekends and he can technically “sleep in.” He hasn’t slept in since a certain infant came home with him, of course, but he wouldn’t trade Matthew for anything, not even a few more hours of sleep. 

He’d certainly be open to a babysitter right now, though.

“Okay, honey, we have to get you dressed. Come on, sweetie.”

Matthew is slightly better after a night with the vaporizer running, but still not anywhere close to his usual self. He is smiling and gurgling at the moment, though, which makes Castiel smile, too. Castiel sniffles and swipes at his own nose with the back of his wrist as he feeds Matthew his bottle. He feels congestion settling into his nose and realizes it’s going to be a _long_ day. 

Sighing, he checks his text messages:

_Jack 6:02am: Sorry Cas still sick and cant come in i feel bad im sry i can see if Patience can cover_

_Gabriel 6:43am: Can we talk today sometime? Or maybe your day off tomorrow?_

_Dean 6:45am: Do you want me to come in today? Are you gonna have anyone?_

He finagles his position so that Matthew’s tucked closer to him, then switches the bottle from his right hand to under his chin, craning and twisting his neck uncomfortably as he holds it in position for Matthew to drink. Right hand now free, he texts back one-thumbed:

_To Jack 6:49am: All set get better_

He doesn’t bother telling Jack that Patience is gone for the weekend.

_To Gabriel 6:50am: No_

Then, because he knows his brother will pester him, he adds:

_To Gabriel 6:50am: Have to work_

_To Dean 6:50am: Thanks but no rest up go get a good coat snow tom_

He pauses. What’s the point of telling him to get himself a decent coat for the snow when he’s very likely going to be shoving off soon? If he can even read his poorly-written text, that is. He shakes his head and sends it anyway. A California boy like him should have a warm coat around here, for however short a time he’s here. And it’s not like he can’t afford it.

As Matthew is half-heartedly finishing his bottle, his phone buzzes:

_Gabriel 6:53am: When’s your next day off? I’ll take you and Matt to lunch._

Castiel pulls Matthew’s bottle away from his mouth, then props him up to burp him. When he’s finished, Castiel gives the boy a kiss on the head. He takes a minute to respond (two-thumbed this time) to his brother before carrying Matthew to the bedroom to get him dressed:

_To Gabriel 6:57am: My next day off is not in the foreseeable future, so save your money. If this is about the incident with Dean’s brother, it’s fine. I’m over it._

He’s not _quite_ over it, but he will be.

His phone buzzes twice a few minutes later, but he ignores it, focusing on getting Matthew ready. When he is, Castiel checks the clock and closes his eyes. No time for a shower. He really should’ve taken one last night, but with how fitfully Matthew’s been sleeping and as congested as he was, he didn’t want to take the chance. _Dirtbagging it again_ , he decides as he reaches for his shower-in-a-can. He sprays a cloud of Axe Dark Temptation in the air and walks through it, bare-chested. He’s hardly a temptation right now, he muses, ruffling his dark bedhead and wiggling his nose to prevent a sneeze. 

The air is thick with impending snow, but he knows it isn’t coming for several more hours. He’s already exhausted just thinking about moving it out of the driveway. At least he has a plow guy for the store. He heaves a heavy sigh, coughing about halfway through it. “Well, here we go, honey, another day,” he mutters to Matthew as he secures him in the Impreza. Matthew coughs in his face. Castiel nods, thinking that just about sums up what he expects out of this day.

The morning is steady, though Castiel hardly notices through the fog he’s experiencing. A couple of customers tell him he should go home. Like he even could. He fights through it, insisting to himself that he’s not getting _that_ sick, though he decides to keep the kitchen closed today just in case. 

By 11:00, business has slowed, so Castiel takes a minute to sit. Matthew vomited once, about an hour ago, but he’s seemed fine and even cheerful since, so Castiel wonders if maybe he was just too congested or if his belly wasn’t ready for food. He doesn’t really know how these things work other than what he’s looked up online. The baby is now falling asleep in his swing, seeming to do a little better upright rather than lying down in his bassinet. Castiel frets as he glances at it, knowing Matthew’s getting too big for it now. He’ll have to get a playpen. Or a crib. He doesn’t really have room to set up either back here, and he’s not sure about setting it up in the back room where he can’t see him. He sighs, wondering simultaneously if he could somehow squeeze a crib in if he rearranged a few things and whether OSHA or the Department of Health would shut him down if they saw his setup. Of course, once construction starts, he’ll have to get Matthew out of here, anyway. That brings him to the daycare thing, which he’s been avoiding thinking about. 

He closes his eyes, knowing that he has to face this—for how long, who knows, but he needs to. He mentally adds _Make arrangements with daycare_ to his to-do list, though the list is blurry thanks to the brain fog. _I should probably write it down_ , he thinks. He promises himself he will after he rests his eyes for just a minute.

_“Morning, Cas.”_

_In his mouth, Castiel’s nickname sounds so sweet, so sacred. He smiles softly and buries his face in the covers._

_“Time to wake up, love.”_

_Castiel doesn’t move._

_Warm, thick fingers trail through his hair; kisses land on his temple, his cheeks, his neck. “We’re going to be late.”_

_Castiel hums and stirs, then settles into the blankets again, as if he hasn’t heard._

_“Our flight leaves soon. Don’t you want to fly away together?”_

_Castiel hums a small, contented sound, burying himself deeper in the blankets._

_“I guess if flying away with me doesn’t excite you, I’ll have to excite you in other ways,” his lover murmurs, one strong hand cradling his face and the other tickling his nude body both playfully and alluringly with those oh-so-familiar fingers. He opens his eyes, smiling as his partner’s soft green eyes smile back…_

“Cas? Time to wake up, man.”

Castiel jerks awake, flustered and troubled. “Dean.” Immediately he turns away as he starts to cough. His throat is parched.

Dean is suddenly pressing a cup of water into his hand. Castiel drinks it, though it’s somewhat difficult because he’s so congested. He stares at Dean for a moment, struggling to find words. “Why are you here?” Then, remembering Matthew, he scrambles to look behind him. 

“He’s asleep,” Dean reassures him just as he sees that yes, the baby is sleeping. “You okay? Not like you to sleep on the job.”

His face flaming in embarrassment, he stands and grumbles, “I’m fine. Again, what are you doing here?”

“Came to show you my new duds I picked up last night after I left.” He spins in a slow circle with his arms spread out. He’s wearing a thick, black parka with an L.L. Bean label, a sturdy pair of jeans, gloves, a hat, and what are definitely Bean boots. 

“Did you buy out the store?”

“No,” Dean answers with an edge of snark to match the way the question was asked. “But you were right. And since I’m gonna be around a while, might as well dress like it, huh?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, still sorting out the fact that Dean is “gonna be around a while.”

“Oh, and check out what I bought this morning!” He drags Castiel to the door, then points to a shiny black vehicle with a plow across the street. “That’s my new Jeep Grand Cherokee. Badass, right?”

It’s a beautiful vehicle, and even more so when compared to his car parked in front of it—the frumpy, awkward nerd next to the gorgeous, popular jock. He hates to admit it, but he’s jealous. “Black shows a lot of dirt,” he comments.

“Yeah, but whatever. I’ll clean ‘er regularly. Now I did a bunch of research and, in addition to looking badass, that’s one of the best rides for around here. Got all wheel drive for shitty weather, so it’s nice and safe, plus heated seats, plenty of room, and dude—now I can plow you, man!”

A burst of heat sears Castiel’s cheeks as he turns wide eyes toward Dean. There’s no way he could’ve known about the green eyes he just dreamed of—not that they were Dean’s, they could’ve been anybody’s!—and he’s not even sure whether Dean knows he’s gay. But Dean’s eyes are hidden behind his hand, his cheeks the same scarlet that Castiel is sure his own are. 

“Plow—p-plow your, uh, p-parking lot, plow your parking lot,” he stammers. 

The whole thing is so absurd that Castiel can’t help but snort. “I—I know.”

“I didn’t mean to make that sound—”

“I know.” And why would he want to plow Castiel in any other sort of way, anyway? The guy’s a well-known ladies’ man, and even if he wasn’t, Castiel is, well, Castiel. 

“So yeah,” Dean says, uncovering his face at last. “I’m gonna plow your parking lot for you. Figured if I did it, you wouldn’t have to pay anyone anymore.”

“Um, well, thank you. I—I didn’t realize you’d be”—he stops and coughs, a hard, raspy, painful thing—“here that long.”

“Like I said, as long as you need me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well, I’m sure I must be keeping you—”

“Cas, where’s your help?” Dean cuts in. “You never responded to my texts.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Only the first one.”

“There were others?” Castiel pulls out his phone and, indeed, there are two more, the ones he’d ignored earlier when he was getting Matthew ready. He’d assumed that it was Gabriel arguing or groveling some more. Instead, it was Dean:

_Dean 7:04am: Are you gonna have anyone? You didn’t answer that part._

_Dean 7:05am: Since you didn’t answer my question I’m guessing you don’t. I’ll be by to help as soon as I run an errand. Probably around 10:30 or so._

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see it.”

“I figured, or at least I figured maybe you were too busy or, you know, being stubborn.” He grins. Castiel scowls, which only makes him grin wider. “And with the way you answered, I thought you might’ve needed help. I mean, the text just didn’t seem like your kind of text.”

“Apologies. I was typing one-thumbed while trying to feed Matthew.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a problem, I just...you know, just figured I should come by to check on you. Sorry I was late. Took longer to find what I wanted than I thought. But I’m here now.”

Castiel isn’t sure what to make of the fact that Dean thought he should come by to check on him. “Well, thank you. Like I said, though, you already put in your hours.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I do.”

“Oh, yeah. You could get in trouble.”

“Right.”

“Well...what if I just hung around? You can’t get in trouble for that, can you?”

“Loitering is a crime.”

“Only if you report me.” He grins again, and Castiel reluctantly smiles back before launching into another coughing fit.

“You don’t sound so good, man.”

He grunts. “Matthew has generously shared his cold with me.”

Dean grimaces sympathetically. He turns his attention to the baby. “Kids. They’re like little petri dishes. Disgusting, adorable petri dishes.”

Castiel chuckles as his eyes skate over Matthew, too. “I thought he was...well, not the most attractive kid at first.”

“Really? But look at how cute he is!”

Matthew’s hair is damp, the skin around his nose is red and chapped no matter how much ointment Castiel globs onto it, and he’s pretty sure there’s another ripe diaper waiting for him. “Yeah, he really is beautiful,” Castiel smiles. “But when I first saw him, he had that sort of squished, fresh-from-the-womb look, all blotchy and spotty and scrunched up. But then Zeke, one of the firefighters you met, said something about his looks, and I got all defensive. He became very cute very quickly to me.”

“Love at first sight, huh?”

Castiel turns back to Dean. “Pretty much.” 

“Yeah.” Dean’s eyes flit around Castiel’s face. Castiel wipes at it, wondering if he drooled in his sleep. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that particular embarrassment, though, because Dean looks back at Matthew and asks, “How did you get him?”

“Huh, _that’s_ a story.”

Between coughs and customers, he tells Dean the story. Dean is attentive in a way that surpasses polite interest. He’s genuinely interested in Matthew, in something about Castiel’s life. It’s more than he expected from the man who nearly killed them. Accidentally. An accident that he seems to feel bad about.

Matthew wakes, stopping both Castiel’s story and his thought process. “I need to make his bottle,” he says.

“I got it,” Dean quickly intervenes. “Probably not good for you guys to swap germs back and forth.”

“He started it.”

Dean huffs a chuckle. “I guess that’s true. Damn adorable petri dish.”

Castiel smiles, picking up the baby and kissing his ruddy cheeks. “Hey, sweetheart.” He turns to Dean, pointing to the formula on the counter. “Follow the directions for four ounces.”

“On it.” 

Castiel doesn’t miss the delighted look in Dean’s eyes, but he chooses not to comment. Instead, he talks to Matthew, his own voice odd in his ears with the congestion. He takes him to the bathroom to wash his face and change his (yup, very ripe) diaper, returning to see Dean about to ring someone up. He forgot to switch the sign to closed.

“Bottle’s all set,” Dean declares when he returns. 

“You’re not supposed to be working.”

“What, I was gonna leave someone waiting?”

“Yes, or tell them we’re on lunch break.”

“He didn’t actually punch anything in yet,” the woman speaks up. 

“Yeah, exactly.” He backs away from the register, hands raised. “I’m innocent. No working here.”

Castiel shoots both Dean and the woman his squintiest side-eye. “Uh huh.” He sniffles, then exhales through his mouth because he can’t through his nose. Switching Matthew to his left arm, he quickly rubs sanitizer over his hands (even though he just washed them) and rings up her items, sticking her receipt in her bag after it prints. She offers them a smile and a wink as she leaves.

“That was cheating,” Castiel grumbles when Dean hands him Matthew’s bottle. 

“I really didn’t do anything.”

“Uh huh.” A coughing fit seizes him as he’s about to feed Matthew. He feels both the bottle and Matthew being slipped from his arms as he bends over, groaning in pain as he tries not to cough too hard even though that’s what his body is insisting he do. His hand is filled with a cup of water a moment later, though he can’t catch his breath to drink it for another minute. When he finally does, he’s grateful that the water is cold against his scratchy throat.

“You okay, Cas?”

He blinks the burning sensation out of his watering eyes. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“S’okay. You wanna take him back, or you wanna rest a few minutes?”

Castiel considers his options as he watches Dean, whose attention is back on Matthew, making kissy faces that are making the baby smile. “I need a few minutes. You can feed him, if you want.”

A hopeful spark makes Dean’s face glow. “Really?”

“Sure. I’m right here, in case.”

“Okay, yeah. Okay. I never have before, though. Fed a baby, I mean.” 

“You should’ve seen me the first time. I’m sure you’ll do fine. He does most of the work.”

Dean nods, then smiles widely as he offers the bottle to Matthew, who accepts it eagerly. “Hey, Matt. You like that? That good stuff? Wait ‘til you get the really good stuff when you’re older. Solid food, man. You’ll love it.” 

Matthew starts to cough. Dean’s smile drops into a panicked frown as he pulls the bottle away.

“It’s okay, he’s just going too fast,” Castiel assures him. “He’s hungry, but he’s congested, so he can’t swallow that well. Give him a minute and he’ll be right back at it.”

“Oh,” Dean breathes. “Okay.” He smiles once again as Matthew stops coughing and accepts the bottle. 

Castiel watches, proud of himself for even letting this happen. This man nearly killed them...but he didn’t. He avoided them, in fact, swerving to hit the building instead of them. And in the grand scheme of things, a building is just a building. Buildings can be replaced, money can be repaid, businesses can be sold or disposed of if need be. The important thing is that no one was seriously injured. “You had a concussion from the accident, right? Are you feeling better? No long-term consequences?”

Dean’s attention shifts, his eyes wide and surprised. “Uh, no. Well, having a little twinge in my neck, but the old Jell-o mold in my skull is all good.”

Castiel chuckles. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Don’t ignore the neck thing, though. We have a good chiropractor in town, and there are several more toward Portland.”

Softly, Dean says, “Thanks.”

And Castiel realizes, right then and there, that he’s forgiven Dean Winchester.

Dean does a great job with the feeding, even taking the inevitable spit-up on the shoulder of his thick fisherman’s sweater with good humor. Afterward he plays with Matthew, wiggling his toes and singing nonsense as Castiel helps a couple of customers and warms another sippable soup in the microwave (chicken with mini noodles this time). The heat of the soup is comforting, but not nearly as comforting as the feeling in his chest as he listens to his (foster) son giggling at Dean’s games. He loves hearing Matthew happy, and he’s enjoying the feeling of taking a chance and letting go of the anger he felt toward Dean. 

Castiel tells Dean to go home many times, but Dean sticks around. At one point he wanders off, and Castiel finds him in one of the aisles, straightening the products so their labels face forward. “What are you doing?”

“Shopping.”

“Dean.”

“I turned the cans around so I could read the labels, so I’m fixing them.”

“You turned every single can around.”

“Yup.”

“Uh huh.”

Dean bats his eyes innocently. Castiel throws up his hands and walks away.

The snow begins around 4:30. Castiel tells Dean, once again, to go home. 

Looking up from where he’s “deciding on what candy to buy” (and straightening out the candy display in the process), he says, “What? I can’t understand you. You’re too congested.”

“You heard me. Go home.”

“You’re going home? Good idea. I’ll close up for you.”

“That’s not—”

A couple of teenage boys come in, walking closely side-by-side. They wander past the boarded-up wall, commenting on the sign and laughing. Castiel lets them be, continuing his argument with Dean as Dean continues to pretend not to understand him.

The boys, still walking so close together that their shoulders bump, approach the register a few minutes later. Castiel hears the tail end of their conversation, one telling the other that no, his parents bought eggs before they left for their weekend away, so they don’t need to buy those. They drop sparkling apple cider, maple syrup, and bread on the counter. “Um, can we—um, I mean, can I, uh, get a pack of condoms, too?” the boy on the left asks hesitantly. He can’t be more than seventeen.

“Sure, which ones?”

“The, uh, light blue ones, I guess? I mean yeah, light blue.”

Castiel plucks the box of unlubricated condoms from the peg behind him. “That gonna do it?”

The boys nod, snickering at “do it.” Castiel suppresses the eye roll he wants to let loose. He remembers being young and horny. Now he’s older and horny and too damn tired and busy to do anything about it. He can help these kids out, though. “You know you’re going to want lube, right?”

Both boys freeze on the spot, their snickers dying as their faces pale. “What?” the one on the right says.

“Lube. These are unlubricated. Unless you’re all set with that.”

Their eyes flick toward each other. Lefty speaks up. “Uh, okay. We—I’ll take that, too.”

Castiel drops a small tube of lubrication onto the counter and rings it up. “$29.19,” he announces, his voice and face impassive as the boys struggle to compose themselves.

Lefty hands him two twenties. They joke around loudly, jostling each other as Castiel makes change.

“Hey, you want a chocolate rose?” Lefty asks Righty, bumping his elbow. 

“No, that’s stupid,” Righty replies, though he doesn’t seem to believe his own words. 

“Your loss. I’m gettin’ one for me.” He pulls one out of the bin.

“Then get one for me, too, you dick.”

“Thought you didn’t want one?” he mocks him, already adding it to the counter. He forks over more cash as Castiel hides a smile behind a cough into his arm.

“They looked good.” 

Castiel hands Lefty his change.

“Thanks,” he nods, then turns to his companion. “Come on, let’s get back and kill stuff.” 

Righty pulls out keys, Lefty takes the bags, and they exit the store, Lefty holding the door for Righty and Righty just brushing Lefty’s hip with his hand as he walks by.

“They have no clue how obvious they were, do they?” Dean comments once the store is quiet again.

“They sure don’t,” Castiel says, snickering until his breath catches in another, more vigorous cough. Dean hands him a bottle of water this time, along with a bag of Ricola throat lozenges. He rings them up and pays for them before Castiel can catch his breath to say anything.

“It doesn’t count as work if I’m the customer, too,” Dean argues preemptively. He glances outside. “Startin’ to come down pretty hard. Looks like I’ll get a chance to try out my new plow tomorrow.”

“Looks like. You should head home, like I keep telling you.”

“Oh, is that what you were saying?”

Ignoring his cheeky comment, Castiel asks, “You did get a snow brush to clean off your windshield, right?”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Knew I forgot something.”

Castiel can’t help but chuckle. “It’s the little things sometimes.”

“True. Like lube for a couple of guys who are gonna have a wild night, uh, ‘killing stuff’.” He uses finger quotes for emphasis. 

Now Castiel laughs outright. “Stop, my head,” he complains, his sinuses throbbing.

“Sorry,” Dean grins. “Well, looks like I’ll need to borrow yours. Which means, if you want me to leave early to beat the snow, you’ll need to do the same.”

“There are snow brushes right there.” He points to the stand of snow scrapers and brushes of various sizes.

“I don’t have any more money on me.”

“I’ll give you one.”

“Nah. I’m not a charity case.”

Castiel growls at Dean’s put-on seriousness as he throws Castiel's words back at him. “Well, I don’t want you to leave early to beat the snow, anyway. I want you to leave because you’ve been here all day ‘not working’ and you should be home relaxing.”

“Nah, that’s boring. I’m just gonna hang out here until the store closes.”

“We close at 8:00. You really should get out of here before then.” He takes a sip of water to stave off another coughing fit. “You’re still inexperienced driving in the snow, even if you do have all wheel drive now.”

Dean shrugs. “I’m good. Gotta learn, right? Sure is getting deeper, though.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. He’s exhausted, Matthew’s exhausted, and it probably isn’t worth the cost to stay open for the few sales they might get. “It’s getting deeper, all right,” he mutters under his breath before he capitulates. “Fine. I’m closing. Are you happy?”

“Yup.” 

He shakes his head at Dean’s victorious grin. 

Dean helps him carry Matthew and his gear out to their vehicles. The snow is already an inch thick and accumulating rapidly. Castiel activated the remote starter installed for Matthew’s sake before they gathered their things to leave, so his car is already toasty. He loans his snow scraper to Dean first and waits in the warmth, since Dean has to wait for his own car to warm up and since Castiel can’t leave until they both use the scraper, anyway. He tries to sing to Matthew, but his voice is giving out, so he plays a CD of children’s songs for him instead as he rests his eyes. A couple of minutes later, he hears a _thunk-whoosh_ against his window. He lids flutter open to see Dean cleaning off the windows for him. He knocks on the window to get Dean’s attention, but Dean waves him off and finishes the job. He opens the front passenger door and tosses the brush onto the floor. 

“Gonna follow you home,” Dean calls into the car.

“That’s not necessary. I only live a mile from here.”

“Dude, you’re dead on your feet. Just wanna make sure you guys are safe.”

Castiel doesn’t argue. Instead, he agrees with a nod, which seems to both surprise and satisfy Dean. When Dean is in his vehicle, Castiel signals and eases onto the slippery road.

The drive is terrible, as he expected, but it’s short and manageable. When they arrive, Dean helps Castiel bring Matthew and his things inside. He doesn’t comment on his surroundings, which Castiel isn’t sure how to take, but he hardly has energy to care, anyway. Dean leaves them with a wave, a promise to plow around 7:00, and a stern demand to call him if he isn’t feeling better, or Matthew isn’t feeling better, or if he needs him to work (“Sunday starts a new week, so I can work, right?”), or if they need anything at all.

Castiel goes to bed that night propped up on pillows, the vaporizer running, his eyes burning, and a smile on his face.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel crawls out of bed at 5:30, up early because he has to clear the snow from the driveway in order to get to work. The storm has dumped around five inches so far, and they’ll probably get another three to five before it tapers off to snow showers late in the day. He feels like shit. Smells like it, too, he thinks as he sniffs his armpit. He _really_ needs a shower, but there’s no point in taking one until he’s finished shoveling. 

Since Matthew is sleeping soundly, having finally passed out at 4:00 after being up for several episodes of _The Great British Baking Show_ , Castiel figures he’s safe to go out _._ Just in case, though, he takes the monitor he rarely uses and clips it to his waistband. He doesn’t bother to change out of the sweatpants and sweatshirt he pulled on last night when he was shivering in the living room. Instead, he simply shoves his feet into his boots and throws on his coat, gloves, and hat. His nose is running. He swipes at it with a tissue. He notices that his supply is dwindling. 

The wind is sharp and unhelpful as he shovels the space around his car. Usually he shovels the entire two-car driveway, but not today. He knows he’ll regret it later when the snow is packed, but he just doesn’t have the energy. He works his way down to the end of the drive, where the town plow came by last night and left mounds of snow. Sweating and breathing heavily through his mouth, his lungs burning with the exertion, he throws scoop after scoop into the small front yard next to him. His nose drips onto his upper lip, forcing him to swipe at it multiple times with his gloved hand, and he gets dizzy a couple of times, but he keeps going. By the time he’s finished, the space he’d cleared in front of his car has filled in again. He mutters “Fuck it” and tells himself that he’ll clear it again before he leaves, though in reality he’ll probably just drive over it and deal with the consequences later.

Back inside, Matthew is still sleeping, so Castiel takes a quick shower (who’s he kidding, they’re all quick these days). He scrutinizes his face in the mirror, wondering if he should shave the stubble that grows in so damn fast. He skips it, figuring he’s so out of it that he’ll probably do more harm than good with a razor blade anyway. He slips on some clean-ish jeans, a t-shirt, and a zip-up sweatshirt, then sits on his couch and stares at the ceiling through watery eyes. His head feels like a balloon. He has to get Matthew up, dressed, and fed and then feed himself, though he doesn’t have the energy to make anything. 

He wonders if his customers will be offended when he shows up looking like a hungover college student at an early morning class.

There’s a knock on his door. He shuffles to it, confused as to who would be here at nearly 7:00 in the morning. It’s Dean. He frowns, more confused than before. “Hi?”

“Hi. I told you I was gonna plow. Why’d you shovel?”

“I thought you meant the store.”

“Yeah, but here, too.”

“Oh.” He sniffs, trying to keep his nose from leaking, which causes a coughing fit. 

Dean frowns. “You’re not going to work today,” he declares with an air of authority.

Castiel, once he’s recovered, arches a brow. “Excuse me? Says who?”

Looking rightfully chastised for a moment, Dean rallies back with, “Says common sense.”

Castiel folds his arms.

Dean softens his stance. “C’mon, man, you’re sick. You don’t wanna infect the customers, ‘specially on Valentine’s Day. You probably won’t have business anyway, with the storm, so it’s kind of a waste.”

“People tend to pick up last-minute Valentine’s things.”

“Listen, if they didn’t plan ahead, that’s on them. Plus, no offense, but if they’re doing their Valentine’s Day shopping at a convenience store on the day of, they got bigger problems they should focus on.” 

Castiel smiles thinly, but doesn’t change his position.

“Plus, Matthew’s been sick. He needs a day home, don’t you think?”

 _Damn him_. Castiel can’t argue about Matthew needing a day at home. Things have been so chaotic recently. The little guy has taken it like a champ, but he can’t deny that between the chaos and his illness, he could use a break from it all...and nothing will come before his needs.

“Fine,” he mumbles.

Dean nods. He has the good sense not to look like he’s won. “If you give me your keys, I’ll move your car so I can plow.”

“It’s okay. I’ll shovel later.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Okay. I’ll do the store’s lot, at least. And if you’re that worried about the store, I can open for you. I think I got the hang of things.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No. You’re right; business will be slow to none. Thank you.” 

With a smile and a “Take care, then,” Dean disappears into the storm.

Castiel watches him go, relieved that he can stay home and grateful that Dean cared enough to argue with him. Then, he shuffles to his room to change into the rattiest sweats he has, ready to take full advantage of his sick day.

* * *

_Gabriel 11:42am: You home? Tried to call you at the store and you didn’t answer._

_Cas 11:44am: Yes. Matthew and I are sick._

_Gabriel 11:44am: Glad you took care of yourself and stayed home._

_Cas 11:45am: I stayed home for Matthew._

_Gabriel 11:45am: Figures. Well, whatever works. I’m going to stop by in a bit._

_Cas 11:46am: I wouldn’t if I were you, but knock yourself out._

He tosses his phone aside and slumps further down the couch. His symptoms have gotten worse. His head is pounding, his throat is aching, and his nose _will_ _not stop running._ He ran out of tissues twenty nose-blows ago, so a roll of toilet paper is tucked by his side. Squares of toilet paper are jammed into his nose because he’s sick of wiping it every thirty seconds. His Rusties had laughed at the pathetic-looking selfie he sent the group chat with the caption _Gonna go get me a man!_

Matthew’s in a decent mood, at least. He woke up and ate a full bottle shortly after Dean left, and now he’s playing on his Woodland Friends playmat with the arch of soft animal figures above it. He reaches for them, delighted when he manages to hit one.

Gabriel knocks. “Come in,” he manages to croak. He doesn’t bother removing the toilet paper from his nose. Gabe’s the one who taught him to do it, after all. 

Bags rustle as Gabe enters. Castiel pays him no mind, focusing his eyes on the ceiling as he tries to figure out whether he should have his nose surgically removed. His brother walks up to him and chuckles. “Heya Cas.”

Castiel bolts upright, pulling out the toilet tissue from his nostrils. “What are you doing here?” he asks his _not_ -brother, Dean, who’s looking at him with amusement and...something that Castiel can’t parse out.

“Thought I’d check on you, make some lunch. Since you didn’t call to tell me how you felt this morning, I figured I probably couldn’t count on you to update me, either.”

“Oh.” Heat fills his cheeks. “I’m fine. You don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. Okay to use your kitchen?”

Castiel nods.

“Cool. Hey buddy!” Dean greets Matthew, kneeling on the floor next to him. “I like your toys. Look! It’s a bear! Rrr! And a fox! Ha-ha-ha! And a butterfly! Uh, flutter-flutter? I don’t know; they don’t say anything. And a moose! Uh...what do those sound like, Cas?”

“Dunno. I’ve never gotten close enough to one to find out. They’re not exactly wandering down Main Street.”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe this?” he says, then does a Chewbacca impression that makes Matthew laugh and Castiel smile. He keeps doing it to keep the baby laughing, which makes Castiel laugh, then cough so hard it feels like rocks are tumbling in his throat. Dean looks up at him with concern.

“You sound terrible, man. I’m gonna get going on lunch. Need a bottle for him?”

“I can—”

“On it. You rest.”

Castiel is hardly in a position to argue, since resting is about all he can manage, anyway—that and sending a message off to his Trusty Rusties:

_Cas: Well, Dean came over while I was sporting the TP in my nose. Love that for me._

_Ana Jo: Oh noooo_

_Anna: Lol! Why did he come over?_

_Ana Jo: Oh honey_

_Ana Jo: You did say you were gonna get you a man_

_Ana Jo: And there he is_

_Ana Jo: Happy Valentine’s Day_

_Anna: Lol Ana_

_Ana Jo: You okay, sweetie?_

_Cas: I’m fucking mortified_

_Cas: He came to check on us and make lunch_

_Anna: He’s making you lunch? That’s super sweet! What a good guy!_

_Cas: I’m nver going to live this down. I’ll never be able to be a proper boss agin. How is he going to respect me when all he’ll see is THAT?_

_Cas: Not that it matters, he won’t be around that long_

_Cas: *never_

_Cas: *again_

_Cas: God I can’t even spell_

_Cas: Feels like I’m underwater_

_Charlie: Ahhhhhhhh I’m so sorry you’re sick and embarrassed Cas but that’s so cute! Gilly says hi and she hopes you feel better. We’re watching Love Actually._

_Cas: It’s not cute. Hi Gilly, thank you_

Castiel hears Dean saying “Alright, alright, alright” like that guy in _Dazed and Confused_ , each “alright” getting closer. He messages _Gotta go_ , then places his phone on the end table.

Dean returns with a prepped bottle, a glass of orange juice, and two orange pills to match. “Daytime cold meds,” he explains. “Unless you’ve taken some already.”

“No.” He hadn’t bought any, thinking the cold would be no more than a minor inconvenience. He takes the glass and pills. “Why does the juice have ice in it?”

“Makes it colder. Tastes awesome when you’re sick. Try it.”

He does, and Dean’s right. The acid from the juice burns his throat, while the cold soothes it. “You’re right, that is good.” He gulps the two pills.

“Uh oh, I’m right twice in a day,” Dean teases. “Soup’s all put together; I’m just warming it up along with some bread. You mind if I feed him so you can rest?” He hesitates, then adds, “Unless you wanna—”

“Go for it.”

“Cool.” He smiles gratefully at him, then scoops up Matthew in his large, nimble hands. “Heya Matt, ready to eat?”

Castiel’s never called the baby “Matt.” It’s always seemed too casual, too familiar. Too much like he’s going to stay. “He did pretty well this morning. He’s starting to feel better.”

“That’s great!” Dean says, eyes completely focused on Matthew. “Gotta get big and strong, right? Let’s see how you do this time.”

They’re quiet as Matthew eats, happily sucking down what’s offered. Castiel watches them through glazed eyes. Dean smiles at Matthew and talks high-pitched baby nonsense to him, and Matthew responds with smiles that make Dean’s heart squishy, by the look on his face. Castiel knows the feeling. “You’re good with him.” 

“Learned from the best.” 

Curious as to who taught this man he hadn’t equated with parental capacity to be so nurturing, he asks, “Who?”

“You.”

Castiel is at a loss for words.

“I mean, I learned some of it from nannies and stuff, some from my mom, and I took care of my brother a lot when we were a little older. But taking care of this guy, feeding him right, holding him right, talking to him and doing the things he likes...all you, man.”

His throat tightens for reasons unrelated to his illness. “Thanks.”

Dean nods, keeping his eyes firmly on Matthew, which Castiel appreciates as he wipes his eyes.

Lunch is ready by the time Matthew is done eating, and it’s delicious. “And who taught you this?” Castiel asks after swallowing several comforting bites. 

“My mom and my nannies taught me the basics, and the rest I learned on my own.”

“You’re very good at it.”

Averting his eyes, Dean’s lips tick up shyly. “Thanks.”

Castiel fully expects Dean to leave after lunch, but he sticks around, playing with Matthew and reading him stories until he falls asleep around 1:30. It’s then that the person he actually expected to show up does.

“Cas! Brought you some real food, you stubborn bast—oh, hey,” Gabriel says as he sees Dean. Both Castiel and Dean shush him, pointing to the baby asleep on Dean’s chest.

“Sorry!” he whispers. “Sam and I made chicken and dumplings for lunch and thought you’d want some. We thought Dean was gonna be home, but he was gone when we went downstairs and didn’t come back...now I see where he ended up.” He shoots them an amused smirk.

“Could’ve told you where I was going, but you guys were still holed up in Sam’s room when I left.”

“Well, safe to say you didn’t wanna walk in on that.”

Both Dean and Castiel’s faces screw up in disgust. “Yeah, no,” Dean speaks for them.

“Figured I’d stay awhile to take care of you, Cas, but I see you already have someone to do that.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at his brother’s devilish grin. “Dean isn’t here for that. He’s just—” He thinks of everything Dean’s done for him today and loses the argument before he can even start it. Dean _is_ taking care of them, for some reason. “He’s just checking on us. Checking on Matthew. And he’s offered to plow the driveway.”

“My new plow is awesome,” Dean interjects. “Big toy for a big kid.”

“Okay then,” Gabriel says, his hands up in surrender but his tone telling Castiel that there’s no way they’re not talking about this at some point. 

“Thank you for the food and the check-in, Gabe. Just leave it in the fridge. We already ate. Dean made soup.”

“Did he now?”

Castiel musters up his best _I will kill you if you don’t shut up_ glare. “Tell Sam I said thank you for the food.”

Gabriel shifts nervously on his feet. “Wanted to talk about all that, actually—”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m gonna put him down if that’s okay, Cas,” Dean interrupts. “Where’s his room?”

Castiel thought he’d reached peak mortification, but now Dean wants to go in his tiny, messy, sick-musty room. “Uh, it’s right there. He’s in with me. Just a one-bedroom place. Uh, excuse the appearance. We’ve both been sick, and busy, and it’s small and I haven’t had time—”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. Your neat freak tendencies are well-documented.” He smiles softly, taking the edge off his jibe at Castiel’s preference to keep things tidy—more a work habit than a home habit now that he has a baby in his care, but his home is certainly not up to his usual standard right now. Dean stands carefully; Castiel supports his elbow as he does so. He disappears into the bedroom. Castiel can hear him coo “Shh, it’s okay, buddy” as Matthew squeaks in protest at having been put down. A minute later, Dean tiptoes out. 

“Had to put my hand on his chest to get him back to sleep, like you do,” he whispers. “If you give me your keys, I can move your car and get your driveway plowed. Snow's letting up a bit.”

Seeing the timing of his offer for what it is, Castiel points at the keys on the table by the door. Dean dresses for the outdoors, then grabs the keys and scoots out, leaving the brothers alone. 

“It’s okay, Gabe. I’m okay now.”

“You didn’t seem okay when I messaged you yesterday.”

“I know, but...it hurt, yeah—” His throat catches on a cough, and he does his best to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake Matthew. He sips at what’s left of his orange juice, surprised and delighted that he can breathe a little through his nose as he drinks it. The medication is working. “I get it. Situation was weird, timing wasn’t good, I was pissed...but I’m not pissed anymore, and it wasn’t your fault or Sam’s that his brother crashed into the store. I’m sorry for overreacting.”

Gabriel nods, then nods faster as a smile stretches across his face. “Good. We are sorry, you know. Neither one of us wanted it to go like this.”

“I know.”

“Sooo...when you’re feeling better, will you come up and meet him properly? Have supper with us?”

“Sure. Uh, well, I have to think about when I could actually do that, with work and all…”

“We don’t mind eating late.”

“I know, but Matthew has a schedule.”

“I know. Can’t you take a day off?” Gabriel whines.

Castiel huffs. It’s an old argument, one they had even when he _was_ able to take one day a week off. “When? I can't afford to hire anybody else until I know how all this construction is going to pan out. I would’ve been working today if the weather was decent. Every day I’m not open is money lost, and I can’t afford to lose money.”

“You work too damn hard,” his brother insists.

“Yeah, well, I have to right now.”

“You did before, too. Don’t become Dad, man.”

“I can’t help it. The profit margin wasn’t great to begin with, and that’s after Dad put in a lot of years and money. I get why he was always there. He had to be. It was cheaper than hiring people. He built it up into something that I actually had a fighting chance to keep going, but it’s a tough business. And now, with this...I don’t…”

He feels tears springing into his eyes. 

“What, Cas?”

“I don’t know if I can do it.”

A throat clearing by the door has them turning toward the noise. Neither of them had heard Dean come in. “Sorry, just thought you’d want to know I’m back. Your driveway is small. You okay, Cas?”

 _Oh good. More humiliation_. “Yeah. Just...sick. Eyes are bugging me.”

Dean nods kindly. Cas isn’t sure if that’s better or worse than being called on his bullshit.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’m gonna take a nap while Matthew’s sleeping. I’m beat.”

They both shoo him away, so he grabs his phone and shuffles into the bedroom, falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pile of pillows.

When he wakes, it’s to his nose running once again. Having nothing else available and his dignity completely shot, he wipes it on his tattered sleeve. The room is nearly dark. He glances at his phone for the time. “Matthew, you should probably wake up now, honey,” he says as he sits up. His throat still hurts and his head feels fuzzy. With a deep breath—or as deep a breath as he can manage—he hoists himself up. “I know you need to catch up, but—” His words die on his tongue as he peers into the crib. Matthew isn’t there. “Matthew?”

He flings the door of his bedroom open to find Matthew and finds...Matthew. In Dean’s arms. Gabe is next to him, and Sam is next to him. He had no idea anyone was still here. Something is on the TV, but they’ve all turned his way. “Oh. Hi. I couldn’t find Matthew.”

Gabriel raises his hand in a wave. “We took him out of your room as soon as he started to peep. Dean wanted you to be able to keep sleeping.”

Castiel utters a soft, surprised “Oh.”

“You're sick,” Dean shrugs, not making eye contact. 

“My awesome boyfriend brought pizza.” 

“That was nice of—” A coughing fit disrupts his words of thanks. “Sorry.” He spots the toilet paper on the end table and walks toward it, keeping a hand against his nose so no one sees the copious amount of mucus his coughing dislodged. 

“Here,” Sam says, holding an open box of tissues toward him. “Dean asked me to pick some up on my way.”

He nods his gratitude as he takes the box and scurries to the bathroom, where he uses at least five tissues in a row. He washes his hands. Then, seeing the box of daytime cold medicine Dean brought over, he pops two into his mouth and washes them down with water he drinks directly from the tap.

Sam and Gabe are laughing at something on the television when he returns. Dean is ignoring it, choosing to play with Matthew instead. “They’re making fun of me,” he tells the boy. Castiel glances at the TV. It’s a younger Dean, wearing a backwards cap and cozying up to a blonde woman near a pool. 

“Hey, come check out Dean ‘The Machine’ Winchester!” Gabriel crows. 

The show is clearly one of the reality television programs Dean’s been on. There were several, if Castiel recalls correctly from his Wikipedia page. Dean himself looks beet red and continues to ignore the program.

“Maybe later,” Castiel decides on. “Let’s eat.”

It’s clearly the right decision because Dean relaxes instantly, even brightening when Castiel asks him to bring Matthew to the table. Castiel only eats one slice, his stomach unable to tolerate the greasy treat he usually loves. Dean raises his brows with concern, but Castiel waves him off with a smile, holding his napkin to his nose as it runs. He listens as the men keep up a lively conversation that his head is too fuzzy to follow. He watches, his chest filling with warmth, as Dean gives the baby to Gabriel, then shows him how to get Matthew’s attention when he stops eating from his bottle. 

After they eat, Dean announces that they all “need to get out of Cas’ hair.” The men clean up, then say their goodbyes. Gabe tells him that he thought having Sam over tonight would be “a start, since it’s hard for you to meet up right now,” and Castiel tells him he’ll try to figure something out. Sam tells him it’s nice to meet him and that his house is just fine when Castiel apologizes for it. Dean lingers briefly after they’re gone, reminding Castiel to call or text him if he needs “anything at all” and to let him know if he’ll be working tomorrow. Castiel promises to do so.

When they’re gone, Castiel revels in the quiet for a while. The medication has kicked in again, so he’s feeling marginally better. He plays with Matthew, then bathes him and readies him for bed. He goes down blessedly easy. Not quite tired himself just yet, Castiel sits in the living room. He checks in with his Trusty Rusties group chat:

_Cas: Everyone’s gone. I got a 3 hr nap earlier. Had supper with Dean, Gabe, and Dean’s brother/Gabe’s boyfriend Sam. Dean saw my room. And my sick clothes. He also saw me cry but was too nice to say anything. My humiliation was at an all-time high today._

_Charlie: You have been through the shit, my dude XD How was hanging out with Dean outside of work?_

_Cas: When I wasn’t completely embarrassed, fine. He’s good with Matthew. I didn’t leave them alone or anything, don’t worry._

_Charlie: I’m not worried, Cas. I trust your judgment. Should we get him approved to be with Matthew?_

Castiel pauses, then writes:

_Cas: Yes._

_Cas: It would be helpful so that I don’t have to take him with me to pee when I’m at work._

_Charlie: That’s the reason, huh?_

_Cas: What?_

_Charlie: Nothing. He’s all set. I ran his background checks as soon as you hired him._

_Cas: Why didn’t you tell me before?_

_Charlie: I was waiting for you to ask._

Castiel shakes his head as he places his phone aside and flicks the TV on. It’s still on the program they left off on, something called _Stuck Together 4_ , a reality show about a bunch of ridiculously attractive people who are, apparently, stuck together at some monstrous mansion with its own pool and beach. He rolls his eyes. Dean had seemed so reluctant to watch this. Was he just cringing in the way many do when they see or hear themselves? Was it modesty? Or fake modesty? Or was there something deeper?

Pressing play, he settles in to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cas! Luckily Dean was there to help him out.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel drags himself and Matthew into work on Monday, only to be told to go home by Dean. He doesn’t listen, but it’s nice that Dean cared enough to try.

By 10:45, he can barely speak, his throat raw and raspy. Breathing isn’t a treat, either, his body producing mucus at such a rapid rate that his nose vacillates between being blocked with cement and leaking like a sieve. He sits on a folding chair, watching Matthew playing with colorful plastic links and trying to stay awake.

Jack stops by at 11:00. “Hey, Cas—wow, you really aren’t feeling good.”

Approaching his first foster son with his second foster son in his arms, he quips, “I’ve been better. How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Um, actually, I was wondering if I could put in some extra hours this week? Since I lost a bunch last week.”

Castiel reviews the schedule in his mind before saying, “Yes, as long as what you’re making up and what you’re scheduled for this week doesn’t equal forty, okay?”

“Yeah, awesome!”

“When do you want to come in?”

“Uh, well, I was kinda hoping I could work today.”

Frowning at his timing, he squints at him. “Were you now?”

Jack’s eyes widen. “Uh huh.”

Castiel shoots a quick glance at Dean, who’s making a pizza for a lunch order and _not_ looking his way at _all_. “I think between Dean and I, we can handle the day shift. Mondays aren’t that busy. Dean leaves at 3:30, though. Do you want to come in from 3:30 to 6:00?”

“I could use a few more hours, honestly.” Jack bites his lip and wrings his hands. “I’m free now, and I could work until close?”

“How convenient.” His eyes flick toward Dean again. The man is way too focused on placing pepperoni in concentric circles. He sighs—or tries to, and is consumed by a coughing fit. Dean is immediately at his side with a bottle of water and an offer to take Matthew. He trades the baby for the water bottle, feeling very much like a baby himself as he sucks on it weakly and tries not to cry or scream. He hates being sick.

“Sounds like you could use the time off?” Jack notes with a questioning lilt.

When he’s caught his breath, he says, “Sure. I could probably use an extra day at home.”

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” Jack agrees hastily. “You get home. We’ll be fine.”

“You don’t mind being alone from 3:30 to close?”

“Nah, I do it all the time.”

“All right. Thank you. It’s very thoughtful of you to cover for me when I’m sick.” Castiel hopes Dean knows that the comment is as much for him as it is for Jack. He appreciates both of them looking out for him. Still, he can’t help but put them on edge a little for going behind his back to plan this, as he’s sure they did. “How did you know I was sick, anyway? I didn’t mention it to you.”

Jack is a terrible liar and always has been. “Um...I—I didn’t.”

“Oh. Because when you came in, what you said made it sound like you already knew I was sick.”

“Uh, no, just, it was super obvious, so...that’s why I said that.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” He frowns and nods, as if he truly believes him, then comments, “Your timing was just _really_ good.”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Cas,” Dean chimes in. “Go on, get out before the lunch rush starts.”

Castiel smirks. “Okay.” He packs his things, vowing to himself to at least do the ordering he neglected to do from home, then takes Matthew from Dean’s arms and heads home.

* * *

He got no ordering done.

Instead, he slept when Matthew did, ate the chicken and dumplings that Gabe brought over, and binged all of the reality TV featuring Dean that he could stand. He was in several, like he made a career out of it. Hell, maybe he did.

But now Tuesday’s upon him and he really needs to get his shit together. 

His symptoms have improved, at least. Dean stopped by to check on him last night—a bit after closing time at the store, suspiciously—and by then he was eating some of the leftover soup and feeling slightly more human. He felt even better once Dean reminded him to take some medication and to set an alarm for himself to remember to keep taking it. Today, his nasal passages feel drier, though very raw. His throat is still sore, so he makes tea with honey and hopes it’ll get him through the day.

“Lookin’ a little better, there, sunshine,” Dean calls as he approaches them. 

“He is, yes,” Castiel whispers, swallowing against the soreness.

“Was talkin’ about you, but he is, too.”

“You were calling _me_ sunshine? No one has _ever_ compared me to sunshine,” Castiel rasps with a dry chuckle. 

Dean shrugs. The cold is making his cheeks pink, Castiel notices. “You got the Friday bag with you.”

“Neglected office work.”

“Ah.” He holds out his hands for the messenger and diaper bags. Castiel turns them over, then takes Matthew out of the car and shields him against the wind as they head inside. 

The morning is steady and includes visits from all three of his Trusty Rusties. Ana Jo fusses over him and Matthew both, kissing their foreheads and quizzing Castiel about their symptoms. When Dean rings up her coffee, she gives him an extra-warm smile and a nod. Charlie does her due diligence in checking up on her charge, but soon switches to friend mode and gives them huge hugs and apologies for not being around to help over the weekend. She glances at Dean, then tells Castiel that “maybe Dean could join our next get-together; I think he has some flecks of red in that scruff of his.” Anna brings Castiel fresh bagels with cream cheese and a caramelized white hot chocolate, a new toy for Matthew, and a bag for Dean. “Wasn’t sure what sort of breakfast you eat,” she says, handing him a white, waxy bag that seems to contain the same as Castiel’s. “But I’d like to find out.” He swallows and mumbles his thanks as he practically pushes Castiel aside to wait on the customer at the register. Castiel is amused and, to his surprise, a bit pleased at the brush-off.

After things die down and Matthew’s sleeping in his swing, Castiel pulls out his newer laptop and shuffles through his papers to get the ordering done for the week. Dean peers over his shoulder. He’s so close that Castiel can feel the heat radiating from his body. “What are you doing?”

“Ordering.”

“Oh. How do you do that?”

Castiel shows him the steps he takes for each order. Dean absorbs the information like a sponge, squeezing it out when Castiel decides to have a little fun and quiz him. He’s very quick and bright, Castiel decides, no matter what sort of idiot he seemed to be on his reality shows.

Castiel feels better with each day that passes, in part due to Dean’s babying of him. Because he’s so insistent on doing everything he can to help, Castiel gives him tasks that he doesn’t ordinarily give his employees. Dean does them all, from inventory (which he does perfectly) to scheduling (he smiles when he writes his own name on the schedule, making him “official”) to cleaning the bathroom (which doesn’t seem to faze him at all). It gives Castiel a chance to do other things that he hasn’t been able to do, and by the end of the week, he’s caught up. He hasn’t been caught up in...well, a long time. 

On Friday, Castiel takes advantage of the lull before lunch to present Dean with a white envelope. 

“What’s this?” Dean sets his cleaning rag aside to accept the envelope. 

“Your paycheck.”

Dean snorts. “Is this one of those fake checks they sell in novelty stores?” he asks as he tears open the envelope with a finger. He pulls out the paper and stares at it.

Embarrassed at how little it is (though it’s not out of line with what everyone else makes), Castiel mumbles, “It’s not much, I know. But you earned it.” He tucks his hands in his pockets.

“I—I’m supposed to be working for free.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair, especially with the work you’ve been doing. Besides, it would be illegal to have you work here without compensation. And if something happened to you on the job, I would want my insurance to cover you.”

“But you said you can’t afford—”

“I had two part-timers. Your hours are about the same as what they did. Uh, I did have to pay you for the time you went over, but if you stay long enough, that’ll even out. Not that you will, but...anyway. Um, with the money you earn here, in two or three weeks you could buy some badass rims for your truck or something.”

Dean raises his eyes to Castiel’s face. His hair and skin are soft and lustrous, his muscles scream _personal trainer_ , and his clothes are designer. He’s an actor, a bigwig at his family’s businesses, a classic car collector, a rich, rich man. What the hell does he need with a $350 paycheck? It’s a joke to him. Probably what he tips the servers at his favorite Beverly Hills restaurant. 

But he earned it, and Castiel will be damned if he doesn’t give it to him.

“Well, anyway. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Castiel spins on his heel, ready to find some excuse to hide in his seldom-used office, when Dean murmurs, “I’ve never earned a paycheck before.”

“What?” Castiel turns back to face Dean. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve never earned one.” His eyes bounce between the check and Castiel. “Every job I’ve had..I didn’t really _do_ anything at any of them.”

“You—you were on television.”

“Yeah, but that’s not—I mean, it was work, I guess, but bullshit work, not real acting. It was just me being me, but not really being me, you know? Some caricature of me, like playing pretend. And my dad wanted me to do those. He’s the one who got me in. I never wanted to be on those shitty shows, acting like a dumbass.”

“Oh. But...aren’t you the head of something-or-other at your families’ businesses?”

With a sad uptick of his lips, he asks, “Reading my Wikipedia page?” He snickers at Castiel’s guilty shrug, then continues, “Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you read, or see, or hear about me. I have titles at those places and I draw a check, but I’m a figurehead. The most I really do for either of them is act like their spokesmodel or some shit.”

“What do you mean?”

With a sigh, Dean explains, “My dad thinks a party boy image is good for the brands. He got me on those reality shows to play up that image. It’s no coincidence that I drank a lot of Devil’s Deal Whiskey on every one of those shows. Winchester Liquors makes it. Dad wanted to promote the brand, promote fun, ‘look, you can be like Dean Winchester,’ you know. No coincidence that one of the shows I was on was set at one of our resorts, either. Winchester Resorts is known for the live-it-up sort of crowd. I was expected to be the role model for that.”

Troubled with this new information, Castiel argues, “But you still earned those checks, Dean. You did the work, you—”

“Yeah, but I didn’t earn anything with good, honest work, you know? I was pampered, taken care of. Nothing was demanded of me except to drink more, party more, play it up with the girls more. I did what I was told; I didn’t have a single brain cell in it. I was given no opinion, no power. Even on that _Bachelor_ rip-off I did, there was no choice, not really. They told me who I was gonna propose to.”

Castiel supports himself against the counter. “That’s awful, Dean.”

“Yeah, it was. We broke up within two weeks. Unlike me, she _was_ into the partying scene, and I just wasn’t, or I didn’t wanna be. She wanted all the shit that I wanted to run away from. She was, uh, disappointed, but only because she was gonna lose what she thought was this lifestyle she was gonna marry into. She didn’t love me, wasn’t gonna love me, and I didn’t love her. That’s not what it was.

“And as for my ‘jobs’ at Winchester Liquors and Winchester Resorts...like I said, a figurehead. I stop in, talk with the actual bosses there, attend board meetings to get a feel for what’s happening, but I have no vote, I have no power to do _anything_. I got a business degree and have no place to use it.”

“You have a business degree?”

“Yup. MBA. But most of it was done while I was doing all this other shit. I’d shoot a scene in a hot tub, women all over me, then go study when the cameras stopped rolling. Dad supported it ‘cause it looked good—even had me followed around with a camera at one point, filming partying shit he wanted me to do. It was part of a Spring Break thing for MTV that Winchester Liquors sponsored. Dude, I did all my college stuff online. I never even went to a brick-and-mortar university! It was fake, all of it.”

“Wow. And you never did anything with your MBA? Tried to strike out on your own?”

“Not ‘til now. That’s why this check is so important to me.” He huffs a half-smile as he taps it against his palm. “It’s the first time I went for a job that _I_ wanted to go for, and the first time I did anything I actually consider _work_ , you know?”

“Like scrubbing the bathroom?”

“Yeah, like that.”

Castiel chuckles sadly. “Your talents and resources are being squandered. Of all the wonderful things you could do with your MBA, you’re _here_. God, you have so much more education and money than I’ll ever have. You should own this place. A chain of them.” He rubs at his forehead. “I think I need one of those whiskeys right now.”

At that, Dean breaks into a laugh, throwing his entire body into it. “That can be arranged.”

* * *

A soft tapping at 9:00 has Castiel on guard. Most people he knows don’t come around at that hour anymore. When he peeks through the window and sees Dean, though, he relaxes and opens the front door.

“What are you doing here?”

“You needed a drink, figured you couldn’t get away from home to get one so...here I am.” He holds up a bottle of Devil’s Deal Whiskey. “You game?”

He hasn’t had anything harder than a beer since Matthew came into his life, and certainly not with anyone like Dean. Sparing only a moment to consider whether drinking with his employee is a good idea, he answers, “Sure.”

The smile on Dean’s face is worth the risk of his questionable decision. “Awesome. Nice pajamas.” 

Castiel peers down at his “Pass the kielbasa” t-shirt and sausage-print lounge pants, a gift from Gabriel. “I was hardly expecting company.”

“I’m just giving you shit,” he grins. “Glasses?”

By their third glass, talk has gone from superficial to something deeper. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” Dean says emphatically. “About this job. About the chance you gave me. I know I’m making minimum wage, but hell if it isn’t the money I’m proudest of in my whole life. You—you got something good there.”

“It’s not bad, I guess. It’s a lot of work. It’s...well, it was my dad’s. Then it was mine. I honestly think my dad was happy to get rid of it. He seemed happier. He took a job working for someone else. Gets paid benefits, vacation, everything. He even gets to work remotely so my parents can go away every winter.”

“Yeah, but he has to work for someone else. You get to be your own boss.”

“Yeah. And all the shit that comes with it.” He thinks back to their bathroom cleaning conversation. “Sometimes literally.”

Dean snorts as he finishes his drink. “You don’t like it? Not cleaning shit, obviously.”

“Between Matthew and the store, I don’t think there’s a body fluid I haven’t cleaned,” he chuckles. “Don’t get me wrong. I love being my own boss and I love Matthew. But it’s hard. I think it was even harder for Dad, establishing the store and raising a family. And, you know, I get a little stressed—okay, a lot stressed,” he corrects when Dean arches a brow at him, “but it must’ve been even harder for him.”

“You ever had other jobs?”

“Here and there, but I always worked there at the same time.”

“Mmm. So you always wanted to take over the family business?”

“No. Not at all.”

Dean peers at him with glassy eyes. “What did you wanna do?” He pours each of them another couple of fingers of whiskey.

“Something where I could see the world.”

“Military?”

“Thought about it. I turned eighteen a week after September 11 happened, and...it was a scary time. My mother begged me not to sign up. _Begged_ me. She was so scared...I couldn’t. I stayed. Worked at the store. Good thing, I guess, because by then Gabe was off doing his thing and my dad was in a car accident a couple of years later in one of those early snowstorms. Laid up for weeks after.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” He sips at his whiskey. “He never went back to the store, except to help me out here and there. Like I said, I think it was a wake-up call for him, and he was relieved to step back.”

“So you’ve been running the place since you were twenty?”

Castiel nods. He tries not to think about that. “Anyway, back to your question. I guess I didn’t really know what I wanted. I just knew I wanted something bigger, something I thought was better.”

“Fame and fortune and all that?”

“Fame? No thanks. But fortune would be helpful. I don’t need gobs of money like you have, or what I assume you have. Just enough to be comfortable. Enough to give Matthew more than a friggin’ one-bedroom cottage I rent for way too much. Shittiest place in the nicest town.”

“Isn’t that how you’re supposed to do it?”

“I think it’s ‘shittiest house in the nicest neighborhood’, yeah. But I can’t do anything with this place. I don’t own it, and it isn’t enough, anyway. Poor kid needs his own room, his own space, his...a life…no worries...” Castiel feels tears welling in his eyes.

“Hey, hey.” Dean rests a warm hand on his. “He has a great life, and you’re only gonna make it better. Money ain’t everything, and it certainly ain’t no worries. Look at my life.”

“Most people would kill to have your life.”

“Most people would kill to have my _old_ life. Me, I’m pretty happy with the life I’m making right now.” He smiles softly at Castiel, a smile that makes his belly twirl pleasantly. “The people who want my old life don’t know the crap behind it, how unhappy I was. Matt gets to see his dad all the time. I barely saw my folks. They were always so damn busy. I mean, they tried, but I wish they’d been my parents more, you know? By the time they got with that program, my mom was sick. We got a couple of good years with her before she died, but I wanted more.”

Castiel glances at Dean. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It was a long time ago. I was seventeen. Fucked us all up—me, Sammy, and my dad especially. Made some of his problems a lot bigger.” He pauses a moment before he shakes his head. “Anyway, it woulda been nice to just enjoy the freedom that money gave us to be together rather than them constantly busting their asses to make more, you know? How much do you really need?”

“Money can make you miserable either way,” Castiel observes. “Crazy.”

“Mmm.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. The whiskey is making his head spin, or maybe it’s the warmth and weight of Dean’s hand, which he hasn’t moved from Castiel’s. _Stupid whiskey, stupid sex drive, stupid handsome men,_ Castiel chastises himself. He drags his hand away and turns his head to say something, anything—and finds Dean asleep. 

He should really wake him up, tell him to call his brother for a ride home. Instead, he covers him with blankets and leaves the extra pillow from his bed for Dean to find before tucking himself in for the night—less lonely, somehow, than he is other nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pride for a job well-done. It's a beautiful thing.
> 
> Also, Jack is way too transparent, lol!


	9. Chapter 9

Getting up this morning doesn’t feel like as much of a drag as it usually does. Maybe that’s because he gets to go to work for 8:00 instead of 7:00, or maybe it’s because he had a good time last night (despite the headache he’s fighting through now), or maybe it’s because of Dean’s presence just outside his bedroom door. If he’s still there. He may have woken during the night and left. Castiel doesn’t dwell on that, or dwell on the fact that he’d be disappointed if he did.

“Matthew, bugaboo,” he coos at the baby in the crib. “How’s my beautiful boy?” 

Kicking his arms and legs, Matthew giggles. 

“Good, huh? That’s good. We gotta get ready for work, pumpkin.” With a kiss, he changes and dresses the baby, then steps out of the bedroom to prepare both Matthew’s breakfast and his own.

Dean is sprawled across his couch, lying slack-jawed on his pillow. Castiel smiles and shushes Matthew as they move into the kitchen. He hums as he boils water for tea, then frowns as he remembers Dean drinks coffee and he doesn’t have any. He hopes tea and juice will suffice. Since Matthew isn’t clamoring to eat just yet, he takes time to fry a couple of eggs and toast some bread. Matthew sits happily in his kangaroo carrier, drooling and banging his hand against Castiel’s clavicle. Castiel sings quietly to him, trying to keep him entertained while not waking Dean.

Matthew squeals.

“Shh, honey,” he coos, then nearly jumps out of his skin as a deep voice growls behind him and a hand shoots forward to tickle Matthew’s side.

Dean laughs.

“Jeez,” Castiel pants, his heart pounding. 

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, you look real sorry,” he grumbles at Dean’s sassy grin. He finishes assembling the egg and cheese sandwiches he was making and thrusts Dean’s plate at him. “Here. I _was_ sorry I had no coffee, but now I think it’s just punishment.”

“A morning without coffee is definitely punishment.” He’s still grinning, so he can’t be very upset about it. He takes Castiel’s plate too and sets them on the table, then goes back for their mugs of tea. 

Castiel takes Matthew out of the carrier and places him in his high chair, reclining it back since he can’t sit up yet. In another couple of days, he’ll start him on rice cereal. He’s excited to begin the process, yet worried about how he’ll do it at work.

“Hey,” Dean says when they’re seated.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for last night.”

A part of Castiel wants to laugh at just how morning-after awkward that sounds, but he knows Dean means letting him spend the night. “Of course. It was late, you were tired, and I didn’t see any point in calling someone to come get you when you could stay here at the Ritz.”

Shaking his head and smiling fondly, he says, “Yes, for that, but I meant for just hanging out and talking.”

“Oh. Um, you're welcome. Thanks for remembering I wanted booze.”

“I don’t forget anything you say,” he says with a wink. 

Castiel pushes down the happy flutter in his belly. He reminds himself that even though those television shows might’ve been put-on, Dean’s natural friendliness and flirtiness were not. He’s opened up and become friendly with just about everyone who comes in. Castiel is not some exception. 

And besides that, Dean likes the ladies.

“That’s good, since I’m your boss,” he quips, making Dean laugh heartily.

The mood remains light and teasing. Dean is fun to be around, and he’s a great storyteller, sharing about all the trouble he and his brother caused for their nannies as children. They’re nearly finished their tea when Dean turns somber and says, “I want you to know how sorry I am, Cas.”

With pinched brows and pursed lips, Castiel asks, “About what?”

“Crashing into your store.”

 _Right_. He’d nearly forgotten that Dean had brought him some of the hassles he’s dealing with now. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not—”

“I’ve forgiven you.”

“You—you have?”

“I have.” Castiel’s stomach turns sour as he adds, “So if that’s what you needed in order to move on—”

“No! No, I meant what I said last night. I like the life I’m making here. Cas, did I ever tell you why I was here to begin with?”

Castiel cocks his head curiously. “No.”

“I came here because I was sick of it all. Nothing was working. I tried school and that didn’t work. I tried modeling and that didn’t work. I tried acting and that was a joke ‘cause I didn’t wanna do it in the first place. I tried partying because I was determined to make it mine somehow, embrace the lifestyle my dad wanted me to have if it was gonna be thrust on me anyway, but that didn’t work. I did diets, I worked out, I went to therapy. Nothing seemed to get to the core of whatever shit was going on inside of me. I tried standing up for myself, cutting back and back on the reality shit and demanding to have more of a real role in our family’s businesses. My father wouldn’t do it. So a couple of weeks after New Year’s, I left. I ended up here to visit Sam. Sam had moved out here probably three, four years ago now. He never wanted any part of the businesses. He just wanted to write. And he was allowed to do it. I never got why he could do what he wanted and I couldn’t. I guess it was because I was older. I was expected to toe the line, to be the good son, to obey. And I did, and he always rebelled. We played our parts.

“I wasn’t planning to stay here. Had no clue what I was gonna do, but staying hadn’t really crossed my mind. The day I hit your place was my thirty-third birthday, and it was gonna be my last day in Maine. I was craving a good seafood dinner, and I figured that’s what you eat when you’re in Maine, right? Sam told me I shouldn’t go out, but I told him it was my birthday and I should get to have what I wanted to have and I wasn’t gonna let crappy weather stop me. I was...vain. Selfish. Entitled.”

At one time, Castiel would’ve agreed without question. “Maybe. Or maybe just desperate to control something in your life and give yourself something just for you, not for anyone else.”

Dean pauses. “That’s sweet, Cas. Thanks. Doesn’t change that I was stupid, though. Anyway, I misunderstood just how shitty the roads were and just how little Baby—that’s my car—could handle them. Wasn’t her fault, it was mine. I misjudged the road conditions, and I—” He stops, pinching the bridge of his nose. His voice cracks as his eyes water. “I almost killed you and Matthew. And I ruined your business, I made things so much harder for you—”

“Dean.” Castiel rests his hand on Dean’s wrist. “Dean, you didn’t. We’re fine, we’re right here.”

“But I almost—”

Castiel moves around to his side and wraps him in a hug. “I was mad, Dean. I was so mad. I blamed you for everything. But the truth is, it was an accident. You did everything you could _not_ to hit us, and I’d rather have a hole in my store than any of us hurt—and that includes you. You could've killed yourself when you swerved to avoid us. Insurance will take care of most of the expenses, and I’ll get a loan for the rest if I have to. I’ll figure it out. Money is just money. What’s important is that we’re all okay. People can’t be replaced.”

Dean’s breath hitches. “I know, and that’s why—”

“That’s why we can be grateful that we’re all okay. We’re all here.”

Strong, golden arms (from California sun or a tanning bed, Castiel isn’t sure) finally return the hug. They feel better than they should. “You really forgive me?”

“I really forgive you.”

With a shudder, Dean whispers, “Thank you.”

Castiel gives him a final squeeze, then backs away. “You’re welcome.” Then, because he really does want Dean to know that he means it, he asks, “How’s your car? Baby? You seemed very attached to it.”

“ _Her_ , Cas. She’s a lady,” Dean corrects with a tiny smile. He talks about her as they finish their tea, clearly proud and very attached indeed. She was a gift from his parents for his sixteenth birthday, a car they owned when they were first married. His father messed her up on a drunken night when Dean was twelve. Dean built her back up, piece by piece. He talks of all the time they’ve spent together. Castiel wonders if he loves the car more than his father these days. 

“Well, I know you could talk about Baby all day, but I do have to feed Matthew, try to squeeze in a shower, and get to work.” 

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Dean says. “Um, I can feed him if you wanna get ready. I mean, I know I can’t be alone—”

“Actually,” Castiel interrupts him, “you can now. Charlie approved you.”

“She did?”

“Yes. And I approve you, too.”

His jaw drops ever so slightly, enough to convey his surprise and pleasure. “Uh, well, then, why don’t I take him and you can grab a shower?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you _had_ to help—”

“I don’t mind. I’m here. I’m happy to help.”

Castiel scrutinizes him through narrowed eyes. “You’re not doing this because you think you have to, are you? Because you don’t believe I’ve forgiven you?”

“No,” Dean answers with a conviction that feels real. “No, I—I’d like to move past that, to be...um, friends, if you want? I mean, I know that’s way different than forgiving me, and you might not want that, or you might need to think about it—”

“Dean. I’m trusting you with my life, my everything.” He strokes a hand over Matthew’s hair, then lifts the boy from his chair and hands him to Dean. “I think we’re friends. You know where his formula is?”

“Yeah, I remember. You go take care of yourself. I got this.” His soft smile and relaxed posture are beautiful, the sort of quiet little miracle that’s so special you keep it to yourself. He’s never seen Dean quite as at ease as he is right now. 

“Thanks. It’ll be nice to take a shower that’s more than two minutes long,” Castiel says on a breathy chuckle. He feels flustered and he’s not sure why.

His shower, nearly ten minutes long, is marvelous. 

* * *

_Cas 1:34pm: How about getting together tonight? I’m leaving work at 3:00 today. Patience wanted a few hours since she was off last weekend, so Jack and Patience are on tonight and I get to leave early._

_Gabriel 1:37pm: Yes! Dine in or out?_

Castiel considers how irritable Matthew’s been today.

_Cas: Better make it dine in._

_Gabriel: Cool. Come over to Sam’s, then. We’ll make supper._

_Cas 1:43pm: What time?_

_Gabriel 1:43pm: Soon as you want._

_Cas 1:45pm: Okay. Shoot me his address. I’ll come around 4._

At 4:45, Castiel arrives with Matthew and all his gear in tow. He’s grateful that they didn’t ask him to bring anything. “Hi, sorry I’m la—” 

Dean is nudging past Sam before Cas even finishes his apology. “Hey, Cas. You’re fine. Gabe told us Matt was being fussy. Just glad you made it. Here, I’ll take some of his stuff.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says to Dean’s back as he disappears inside. He turns to Sam, who’s wearing an amused smirk. “Uh, sorry I'm late.”

“Like Dean said, don’t worry about it. Come on in.”

Gabriel appears with a quick hello before he swipes Matthew, car seat and all. “Hi to you, too,” he murmurs, then looks at his surroundings. 

Sam Wesson’s (or is it Winchester's?) home is a cute Colonial in a neighborhood close to the town center. It’s in need of a lot of work, but by the sanded, spackled walls, buckets of paint and trash bags of wallpaper in the foyer, Sam is doing just that 

“Excuse the mess,” he says, likely noting Castiel’s wandering eyes. “I did a lot of the stuff that no one sees when I first moved in—new furnace, oil tank, insulation in the attic, that sort of thing. I’m finally getting to the cosmetic stuff.”

“It’s lovely,” Castiel tells him sincerely. “Besides, you saw my place. I’m hardly in a position to complain about a ‘mess.’”

“He saw your place when you were sick,” Dean reminds him, meeting them in the hall. “You’re Mr. Neat otherwise.”

“Have to be. A small place doesn’t allow for much clutter.”

“You’re too modest. Come on.” Dean leads him by the elbow to the living room, where colorful toys are scattered on the floor and a bouncy seat like the one he has at work sits in the corner. Gabriel has freed Matthew from his confines and is squeaking a toy in his face.

Castiel looks at the baby gear, then at his brother.

“Don’t look at me. This was all Dean.”

His eyes flick to Dean.

“Just wanted him to be happy,” Dean mumbles. 

Castiel watches in fascination as Dean’s face flushes scarlet. He stifles a chuckle. “I think he’ll be very happy with all this. Thank you, Dean.”

Sam mutters something to Gabriel that he doesn’t catch. Neither of them enlighten him when he peers at them with a questioning brow.

Supper is delicious—gourmet burgers and hand-cut fries that would rival any restaurant’s. “Thank you for supper,” Castiel tells Dean, their chef for the evening.

“What’s supper, dude?” Dean asks with good humor. “It’s dinner.”

“They’re the same thing.”

“No.”

“Dinner can also mean lunch in some areas,” Gabe chimes in.

“What? No!”

“Regional differences, Dean,” Sam grins. 

“Weird. Guess I’ll have to get used to it.” He turns to Castiel, who can’t quite believe what he heard. _He really is staying? For how long?_ “The burgers were bomb, though, right?”

“Uhh...yes?”

“He means they were wicked good.”

Everyone laughs at Sam’s translation, and no one else brings up the fact that Dean just essentially said he’s staying, so Castiel figures he’s either misinterpreting or it won’t be long enough to really matter. 

The merry mood continues in the living room, where they enjoy flaky apple pie and apple cider—Gabriel’s and Sam’s doctored, Castiel’s and Dean’s not. Sam is serious but not overly so; he’s the straight man to Dean’s more boisterous personality, but he’s smart, funny and charming in his own way. In quieter moments, Castiel observes his brother and Sam together. They’re so different, yet clearly very fond of each other. Gabriel has a certain glow in his eyes, even as he’s pushing Sam to the limits of his patience, that speaks of how different this one is, how much he cares about him. It’s nice to see his brother so happy.

It makes his own life dull in comparison, but that’s nothing new.

“You tell Charlie you’re gonna adopt my nephew?” Gabriel asks just as melancholy creeps into the edges of Castiel’s consciousness. 

“No.”

“The hell are you waitin’ for? You’re just making her paperwork drag out.”

“This was meant to be temporary.” He rests Matthew, who’s getting fussy again, against his thighs. _He’s getting so big._

“So make it permanent.”

“I don’t know—”

“You love him.”

“Yes, of course I do.” He sighs, turning his attention to his brother. “But things are uncertain right now. And I’m not going to be able to give him a room of his own anytime soon, or other things—”

“Cas, for fuck’s sake—”

Matthew starts to cry. With a glare, Castiel growls as he holds him to his chest, “Now isn’t the time to talk about this, okay?”

Blessedly, Gabriel drops it, but Castiel knows he’s going to have to decide soon. Matthew’s only getting bigger, and Castiel is only getting more attached. If he’s going to give him to a proper family, he needs to do it soon so Matthew has the best chance of bonding well with them. 

The boy’s cries turn to inconsolable sobs. “Think I need to call it a night,” Castiel decides. Matthew feels a little warm. He wonders if he’s falling ill again, or if he might be teething. He read that it can start at his age. 

Dean gathers the things that Castiel brought with him as Castiel straps him into his seat. He apologizes over and over for the disruption to their evening—other than Gabriel’s haranguing about the adoption, he really was having a good time—and the men assure him that it’s no problem. Gabriel and Sam say goodnight at the door, while Dean walks him to his car, placing his things inside it.

“You think it’s anything serious?” Dean asks. Even in the dim light of the lamppost, Castiel can see the worry in Dean’s eyes.

“Probably not, but it’s best for us to be home.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Uh, let me know?”

With fondness in his chest—how could he possibly feel so fond of this man, who literally crashed into his life, after only four weeks?—Castiel promises he will. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't actually realize some parts of the country don't say "supper" until I started writing and someone commented on it, ha ha!


	10. Chapter 10

_Cas 7:02am: I’m pretty sure it’s teething. His gums are swollen._

_Dean 7:03am: Is that serious?_

_Cas 7:03am: Teething? No. It’s a perfectly natural event in a human’s life. Otherwise we’d have no teeth._

_Dean 7:04am: Smartass. I mean the swelling._

_Cas 7:05am: Calling your boss a smartass. I get no respect. No, the swelling is not serious. It’s normal when you have something trying to rise out of your gums like the alien in Sigourney Weaver’s womb._

_Dean 7:06am: Dude I LOVED Aliens!_

_Dean 7:06am: I’m glad he’s okay. He is okay, right?_

_Cas: 7:07am: He’s fine. A little pain medicine and he’s back to his happy self._

Castiel tucks his phone away and packs up Matthew for work. Oh, how he wishes he had today off. He’ll be out by 4:00 if it’s slow, or he’ll stay until close if it’s busy. Either way, it’ll be a long day. Patience will be in later, though, and that will make the day go by faster. 

A few minutes after 8:00, Castiel is completely unsurprised to see Dean stroll in. “Let me guess. Shopping?”

“You got it. Starting with coffee.”

“Uh huh. You know where to find it.”

With a covered paper cup in his hand a minute later, Dean peers over the counter to see Matthew, whose attention is firmly fixed on the zebra hanging in front of him. “He’s okay.”

“I told you he was.”

“I’ve never seen him with a pacifier before.”

“It seems to help. Sometimes, anyway.”

Dean is still watching him, a ghost of a smile on his face. Castiel takes Matthew out of his bouncy seat and offers him to Dean. “You still look worried.”

“Yeah,” he admits, taking Matthew gratefully. Dean matches Matthew’s bright grin. Castiel watches them, longing twisting his heart into knots. He’s much too eager to serve the next person who comes in. 

That person is Bobby Singer, his contractor.

“Mornin’. Figured I’d find you here.”

“Morning, Bobby. What can I do for you?”

“Think it’s what I can do for you. Got your quote.”

“You’re working? On a Sunday?”

“Business don’t stop ‘cause of the weekend, now does it, son?” 

At his knowing squint, Castiel smiles. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“Nope. Now, here’s what I worked up for you.” He shuffles a few blue papers in his hands. “Now here are your must-dos, should-dos, and nice-to-dos. I think I can get the insurance to cover any one of these, if I do it right.”

Castiel looks over the quotes. The dream list includes more efficient lighting, central air conditioning, an updated point-of-sale system, a music system, security cameras, and an ice cream stand. The stand would mean more employees, but also more customers, and it would only be seasonal. “How is the insurance going to agree to the nice-to-dos?” Castiel asks skeptically. 

“’Taint nothin’ to expand this out right here for your ice cream stand, and we’ll save here and here. Plus, usually I can talk ‘em into givin’ you money for your inconvenience. You can use that toward this project, or you can keep it simple and use that money for yourself. Up to you.”

Castiel hems and haws. 

“Between his insurance and yours, I think you can get it all.”

Rubbing his forehead, Castiel decides, “I doubt that Dean’s will, but maybe my insurance will cover the should-dos. Those will improve accessibility and safety. That should appeal to them.”

“You sure you don’t want that little ice cream stand?”

He does want it. He thinks it would be wonderful for his business, for however long he actually gets to keep the business. “Nah. It wouldn’t be right.”

Bobby’s eyes flick to Dean as he settles beside Castiel. “Thought he wasn’t for babysittin’.”

“I’m not working right now,” Dean grins. He turns to Castiel. “Sure you don’t want some of those extras? I mean, central air, come on. That’s a necessity.”

“Not here. It gets hot, but I open the doors and windows and the sea breeze comes in, or on the really hot days I use the two window units.”

“Music?”

“I have a radio.” He points to a dusty, grease-spattered radio that he never uses.

“But what about the stand? I mean, that’s cool. You could offer something that’s not close by.”

Castiel shrugs. “If I have enough money eventually, I’ll do it then.”

“But the insurance could pay for it now.”

“I don’t think they will. Besides, it feels like cheating, and I'm not cheating the system.”

“You’re too good for your own good.” Dean smiles softly at him. It shouldn’t make him shiver to his toes the way it does.

“Your folks raised you right, Cas,” Bobby declares with a hearty shoulder pat. 

Tearing his attention away from the handsome, green-eyed man happily holding his baby, Castiel responds, “Yes. They’re good people.”

“Sure enough. Now, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll deal with the insurance folks directly, give you one less thing to deal with.”

“One less thing to deal with would be most welcome.”

“All right, then. I guarantee you they’ll cover this, Castiel. You’re gonna be okay.”

“You—you really think they will?”

“I do. I’ll make sure you’re treated right. Now don’t you worry. You’re gonna be fine.”

Though there’s no way Bobby can actually guarantee the insurance will cover what he needs, Castiel finds his fears slipping away. “Thank you. Really.”

“No problem, son. You take care.”

After Bobby leaves, Castiel tends to a few customers. He hears Dean talking to Matthew in parentese, sounding way too excited about the bags of Fritos he’s telling him about. It makes Castiel warm and more cheerful with the customers. 

At the next lull, Castiel checks his phone. It had been buzzing in his pocket as he was cashing people out. His Trusty Rusties were talking—and apparently, making decisions.

_Ana Jo: It’s been too long, so we’re converging upon your place tonight, Cas_

_Charlie: With food. Potluck. 6:15, so get your ass out of work on time. Early, if you can swing it._

_Anna: I’m bringing my broccoli raisin salad_

_Charlie: Chili! And my pumpkin choc chip cookies_

_Ana Jo: I’m making endives with shrimp salad_

_Anna: Please no_

_Ana Jo: I am, I swear. It’s a cold dish. I don’t have to cook them._

_Anna: Oh thank God and all the angels and saints_

_Ana Jo: Fuck you_

_Anna: XOXO_

_Charlie: This is a fucked-up potluck. Nothing goes together._

_Ana Jo: That’s the fun part_

He smiles at their conversation and their loving intervention.

_Cas: I’ll figure out something to make._

_Ana Jo: Your presence is enough_

_Charlie: Yay!_

_Anna: We thought sure we’d have to argue with you_

_Cas: See you then. I have to go. Matthew’s crying and Dean looks terrified._

_Charlie: You’re with Dean? Cas!_

He tucks the phone in his pocket, letting them have their conversation without him.

“Sorry, he just sounds miserable,” Dean frowns as he hands the baby over. “Like last night.”

“It’s the teething. Thanks for putting up with it last night, by the way. I don't get out much because breaking him out of his routine just leads to trouble, usually, but I had fun.”

“Me too. That’s the most socializing I’ve done since I got here.”

It strikes him then that Dean doesn’t have any friends here except for his brother, perhaps Gabe, and...well, him. A gregarious sort like him must feel lonely. “Do you want to come to a potluck tonight?”

* * *

“And _that_ is why Cas and I _still_ can’t show our faces at the Dunkin’ on Sheffield Street,” Ana Jo finishes with a wink and a finger gun. 

The air is light as Castiel’s friends share stories of growing up and growing older in Lupine Cove. Matthew went down for bed an hour ago, worn out by eating, painful gums, and a bunch of people who doted on him. 

“So, you guys like living here?” Dean asks. He pours everyone a second glass of Devil’s Deal, then hands plates of apple squares (his contribution) and pumpkin chocolate chip cookies (Charlie’s) around. 

There are choruses of affirmation. Castiel stays quiet.

“Are you thinking about settling down in Lupine Cove?” Anna asks. She tucks her hair behind her ear.

“Well, renting a place, to start. I’m sick of living with my brother already.” 

Castiel knows the feeling. He’d lived with his own brother for years.

“Well, there’s a place just down the street from me. We could...have coffee together in the morning. You like coffee, right?” She flutters her lashes. Anna’s been laying it on thick all evening. 

“Uh, well, I work most mornings, sleep in the rest.”

“I like sleeping in, too. Mornings in bed are some of my favorites.”

“Yeah. Uh, I don’t laze around, though. Usually once I wake up, I work out.”

“Mornings in bed, workouts...those two don’t seem incompatible.”

Everyone snorts at Anna’s forwardness except for Dean, whose smile seems more reluctant. His eyes flick to Castiel, then back to the group. “Yeah. So, uh, anyway, good neighborhoods. What do you suggest?”

They chat for a bit. Castiel doesn’t have anything to add, so he simply listens. That doesn’t seem enough for Dean. 

“What about you, Cas? You’re from around here. Got any suggestions?”

“They’re all good.”

“So do you think Lupine Cove’s a good place for me to live?”

He thinks about being raised here, about spending his adult life here, about never having lived anywhere else, the escape he never made. “It is.”

“That was a hell of a pause. Don’t want me around?”

Castiel scoffs. “No, no, nothing like that.”

“So? What was that pause about?”

Caught out, Castiel shrugs. “I’ve never lived anywhere else. It’s a beautiful place, a safe place. Generations of people visit here, live here. People love it here.”

“But?”

“I’ve always wondered...I don’t know. I guess I’m still trying to find myself. Some days I feel tetherless, other days I feel like I have too many tethers.” 

“Cas has always thought there was more out there,” Ana Jo says affectionately, messing his hair. “I keep trying to tell him that there’s no place like home.”

“There really isn’t,” Charlie smiles. “Gilly and I talk about that all the time. Of course, I just have to convince her that there’s no place like _this_ home. Long-distance romance sucks.”

“You almost made it out of here,” Anna reminds him. “With Zee.” She seems to realize her faux pas, because she grimaces and tries to recover. “Of course, your ex was an ass, so no big loss.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “He’s a topic for another time.”

“Or never,” Ana Jo sneers.

“That’s a good plan too,” he smiles at her, then turns to Dean, who’s looking at him intently, something behind his eyes that Castiel can’t place. “Anyway, this is a great place to live, Dean. It’s just hard to appreciate it sometimes when you live it every day.”

Dean nods, Charlie brings up the house overlooking the ocean that Castiel’s always loved, and they move on.

When Castiel kicks everyone out at 9:30, Dean hangs back. Castiel figures it’s so he doesn’t have to walk out with Anna, who seems to make him uneasy, but it’s for another reason entirely.

“Um, look, I didn’t want to ask in front of the others, but when you were talking about tethers...is Matthew a tether? Is that why you don’t want to adopt him? Would you rather have freedom?”

Castiel feels the weight of both Dean’s question and his regard as he twists his shirt in his fingers. “No. Well, yes, but not in a bad way. He...ties me to a part of me I didn’t know I had, but a part that feels very much like...me. Like who I really am.”

“That sounds like something to pay attention to.”

“Is this the part where you try to convince me to adopt him?” Castiel raises his eyes to meet Dean’s.

He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s the part where you convince yourself.”

“Hmph.”

“Cas, I know this isn’t my business. But—but you love him. You’ve cared for him for months. He’s a part of you, just like you’re a part of him. And now you know your business is gonna be okay. Doesn’t that all count for something, maybe make the decision easier?”

“I’m still not _going_ anywhere, Dean. My life is just...this. This is all he gets. A store to be raised in, a one-bedroom rental, and me, just me, who’s never lived anywhere else and is doing the same job he’s been doing since he was a teenager. What can I”—Castiel stops to take a shaky breath—“give him?”

Softly, Dean answers Castiel’s question. “See, maybe that whole ‘hard to appreciate it ‘cause you live it’ thing is getting in your way here. I think he’s getting a great deal. You can give him your friends and your family, who all adore him. You can give him a roof over his head, food in his belly, a great town, and more attention and love than most kids get. You can give him you, who’s loyal and honest, who loves him like crazy, who sacrificed everything to give him a good place to be when he was just a tiny little thing left at a fire station and is still sacrificing everything to be the dad he needs. 

“Cas, you see your life as ‘just this’—this town, this house, the store, the people you’ve known most of your life. Maybe you think that’s boring or not enough. But me, I see that as stable, predictable, loving. Kids need that. Hell, adults need that. You have everything you need for him and, honestly, everything I ever wanted when I was a kid—and now, even. Maybe you need a break, or maybe a little adventure to shake things up every now and then, or hell, maybe you just need a bigger place that’s yours to make you feel better about this whole thing, but God, Cas, you’re the best dad I’ve ever seen and I would be really pissed off on Matthew’s behalf if you gave him up just because you thought you and what you can give him weren’t enough somehow. Listen to the people who care about you—there’s a fucking _lot_ of them—and try to understand this through our eyes. If we all thought you weren’t good enough for him, we wouldn’t be arguing with you about it.”

With a sigh, Castiel admits, “I guess you’re right. Just...feel like I haven’t done much sometimes, don’t have a lot to offer.” 

“You have a hell of a lot to offer, man.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And hey, if you just want to get out of here and do something else for a bit, then close the store for a weekend and I’ll take you to any of our resorts you want.”

Castiel freezes. Dean’s cheeks immediately flush a pretty red. 

“Um, I meant I can get you set up to go to any of our resorts for free. You and Matt. Or you alone, or you and, you know, whoever. I don’t—I don’t need to _go_ with you, I didn’t mean that. I mean I _can_ , if you’re not comfortable, but, uh, anyway...offer’s open.”

Castiel cracks a smile at how awkward Dean is acting. He can’t understand why Dean is so flustered...unless it has something to do with finding out he had a boyfriend. Maybe that’s what that look was earlier. “I get it,” he chuckles, snuffing the tiny spark of disappointment like he always does—disappointment over what, he’s not sure. It’s not as if he had any chance with Dean anyway, or wanted to or anything.

“Yeah. Like I said, offer’s open anytime. And, uh, just think about what I said, okay? About you and Matt becoming one big forever fam, huh?” Quieter, he adds, “You really have something great.”

He knows he does, even if it’s not everything he ever dreamed of. “I will.”

And he does.


	11. Chapter 11

In the middle of March, Castiel comes to his final decision.

And it’s all because of lions.

The three of them are in the kitchen at the place Dean is renting—the gorgeous house overlooking the Atlantic that Castiel has been in love with for as long as he can remember—while Dean’s other guests are either shooting pool in the game room or chatting in the great room in front of the fireplace. Matthew is playing in his high chair. At five months, he’s much more giggly and interactive, and he seems entertained by the goings-on before him.

The goings-on being Dean acting like an absolute fool.

Dean has loosened up quite a bit in the last few weeks, between all their talks, moving into the house, and forming his own relationships with friends and acquaintances of Castiel’s (except for Anna, who he continues to keep at arm’s length). Castiel feels like he’s loosened up a bit recently, too. Bobby told him that the insurance will cover the “shoulds” at the store, which was a big relief. That task will be done sometime late next month, if the weather cooperates. He’s socializing more, too, thanks to Dean’s efforts as well as his Trusty Rusties, and thanks to Matthew, who’s finally sleeping through the night most nights. 

Dean’s current act (he’s had several, from juggling tomatoes to playing drums on the highchair to balancing Matthew’s toy on his face) is making animal sounds as he feeds him his rice cereal. “Ooooooooh-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!” he screeches, making Matthew screech right back in delight.

“He’ll never settle down if you keep riling him up,” Castiel warns him. 

“What a stick in the mud,” Dean complains to Matthew in a high-pitched voice. “Rrrrrrooooooarrrrr!”

“Well, remember, he needs to sleep in a bit.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

Castiel shakes his head fondly. _Someone_ has to be the adult, and Dean doesn’t seem inclined at this particular time. He turns his back on them to finish topping the vanilla cupcakes with a lemon dessert cream he finished whipping just as the animal menagerie began sounding off, and he smiles as Dean makes a chirping sound that has Matthew giggling hard. 

“Hey, Toucan Sam. Go tell everyone that dessert is ready.”

Dean turns toward him with a grin. “Yes, sir!” He throws him a lazy salute before pressing a kiss to Matthew’s head and scuttling off.

“Oh, Matthew, what are we gonna do with him?” Castiel coos. He wets a paper towel and cleans the baby’s sticky hands and face. “Keep him around? If he wants to stay here, I guess we can do that. He’s funny, huh?”

Matthew breaks into a smile.

“Yeah. C’mere, you.” He lifts Matthew out of the chair and plants rapid, squeaky smooches on his cheeks, making him laugh. Wanting to keep him laughing (and maybe slack off on the whole adult thing for a minute himself), he starts singing a song that he loved as a child:

_In the jungle, the mighty jungle_

_The lion sleeps tonight_

_In the jungle, the quiet jungle_

_The lion sleeps tonight_

Matthew giggles at Castiel’s low-pitched _A-wimoweh_ s as they bounce and twirl around the kitchen. He even tries to sing along, it seems, babbling nonsense. Castiel’s heart stretches as wide as his smile as he marvels at how much Matthew’s grown, how he continues to grow and develop and astound Castiel every day. The boy’s eyes are attentive when he transitions to the next verse, then filled with delight when a chorus of _A-wimoweh_ s join Castiel’s. 

He turns to see his friends and family smiling and singing along. Castiel grins, embarrassed but too happy to really care. He looks at his brother, who’s recording this impromptu singalong, then scans everyone else in the room: Sam, Benny and his wife, Andrea, Zeke and his new girlfriend, Katie, Ana Jo, Anna, Charlie, and Dean. He feels incredibly lucky. Yes, he’s still worried about money. Yes, he’s still in a one-bedroom rental cottage. Yes, he’s still terribly single and would rather not be. Yes, sometimes he’s afraid—of all his responsibilities, of missing out on something, of never getting ahead. _But look at everything I have_ , he thinks as his attention turns to Dean.

_Hush my darling don't fear my darling_

_The lion sleeps tonight_

_Hush my darling don't fear my darling_

_The lion sleeps tonight_

Dean sings the final verse to Matthew, but Castiel’s the one who finally takes it to heart. 

Charlie shouts “Big finish!” through the next chorus, leading the song to an end by conducting the group with her fingers. Everyone falls apart in laughter after the final _A-wimoweh_. Gabriel stops recording, Zeke whines that the singalong was “some fucking Disney shit” even though he’s grinning, and Ana Jo declares it “cupcake time” as she makes her way to the platters on the counter. Dean makes eye contact with him and holds it, long enough for Castiel to have to avert his eyes as heat creeps to the surface of his skin.

Ana Jo shoves a cupcake into his hand. “Eat. Gimme the baby.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles.

Everyone gathers in the great room, the cupcakes placed prominently on the coffee table for prime snacking. Gabe starts telling a story about his latest production. Sam wraps an arm around him, rolling his eyes affectionately. He’s probably heard the story a few times. Benny holds Andrea’s hand; Zeke and Katie sit together, tucked into each other’s sides. His Trusty Rusties throw their heads back almost simultaneously at Gabriel’s teasing about the redhead on his set being a challenge. Matthew chews on a teething toy, looking content on Ana Jo’s lap. Dean sits next to him on the floor, leaning close to whisper jokes about their brothers. 

Castiel remembers times like this at home—times when they’d grill hot dogs, family and friends surrounding them in the small Cape his parents still live in. He didn’t have that sense of longing then, that urge to escape, to spread his wings and flap away as far and as fast as they’d take him. He was in the moment, happy to be with his cousins, happy his dad made sure to take every Saturday night off from the store, happy to eat his weight in red hot dogs and corn on the cob loaded with butter and salt. If he’d let himself, he could be happy now. Very happy. He just needs to live in the moment again, to stop pushing away happiness because he’s afraid of all the what ifs. Sure he doesn’t have everything he wants. He probably never will. But things will work out somehow—they did for his parents, they did for his brother, they did for everyone in this room. They have for him. He’s here, sharing food and laughs and love with people who are important to him, people who are important to Matthew. Like Dean told him, he really does have something great here. He does have a lot to offer, things that money can’t buy. And damn it, he loves that baby to death.

Castiel turns to Dean. “Help me with drinks?” he murmurs.

Dean agrees, and they pour everyone a small glass of wine from the bottle that Anna brought over. (Castiel thought Dean’s eyes were going to bug out of his head when she handed it to him and suggested they could save it for themselves to enjoy once everyone was gone.) They carry the glasses back to the great room.

“Ooh, wine!” Ana and Anna exclaim in unison.

Gabriel accepts both his and Sam’s glasses. “Nectar of the gods,” he intones, then more cheekily adds “That’s why we’re getting some, gorgeous” with a wink to Sam.

“Why’re you gettin’ some, then, Gabe?” Benny jokes, making Gabe pout, Sam kiss his temple, and everyone else laugh.

“Not that you need an occasion for wine, but what’s the occasion?” Charlie asks.

Castiel takes Matthew out of Ana Jo’s arms. He keeps his eyes on him as he answers, “I want to make it official. I’m ready to adopt Matthew.”

Elated screams echo through the great room. Castiel is soon surrounded by bodies, hugging both him and his son with joy and enthusiasm. Even Katie and Andrea, who Castiel has only met a couple times each, embrace him warmly. It takes a couple of minutes and a squawk from Matthew to get everyone calmed enough to sit down.

“I think we’ll all drink to that, Cas,” Dean smiles as he raises his glass. “To Cas and Matthew!”

“To Cas and Matthew!” Everyone takes a sip.

“I’ve been _waiting_ for this! I am going to make Matthew Dean Doe an official Novak as fast as I can!” Charlie declares.

Dean chokes on his drink. 

Castiel and Gabriel snicker as Castiel rubs Dean’s back. 

“Your kid’s middle name is Dean and you never told me?” Dean rasps, still recovering.

“Didn’t want you to get a swelled head,” Gabriel teases.

“It’s not after you,” Castiel explains, dropping his hand from Dean’s back. “Our grandmother’s maiden name is Dean.”

“Don’t let Cas fool you. He’s totally your groupie.”

Castiel shoots daggers at his brother. “I didn’t even _know_ him at the time.”

“Interesting coincidence, though,” Sam adds, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Sam doesn’t seem the sort to tease people he doesn’t know that well, so Castiel’s not sure if his teasing means he’s more comfortable with him now or if he’s actually teasing his brother. Either way, he’s not sure why the teasing is happening...unless, perhaps, his growing attraction to Dean is becoming obvious. He’ll have to be more careful about that.

He turns to make sure Dean has recovered fully from his choking incident and just barely catches him scowling at his brother. When Dean turns his way, though, he’s all smiles. “I’m happy for you guys,” he says. “Really, really happy for you.” Quietly, just between them, he adds, “He’s lucky to have you.”

Despite his self-admonishment mere seconds ago, Castiel feels his cheeks heat and his heart flip in his chest. “Thank you.”

Dean nods, then raises his glass in a toast. “To being who you really are.” 

They drink.

* * *

There’s a crowd of people around his store when he returns from his dentist appointment.

On the second day of April, much too early for tourists.

Castiel squints. His parking lot and the street are full of vans and sedans with tinted windows that are too dark to be legal in this state. 

He thought it might happen someday. 

_Paparazzi._

His blood boils. They talked about this, and Dean promised he wasn’t going to bring all that _shit_ here. But he did. He _did_ , and for what? Another hit of fame? To show the little people he’s “down to earth” and “normal,” just like them? As a way to launch another vapid reality show? To humiliate Castiel somehow? 

He remembers his son is in there, left with Dean and Patience so he wouldn’t have to try to juggle him while in the dentist chair, and his boiling blood turns to steam. 

He will _kill_ these fuckers if they mess with Matthew.

He double-parks next to Dean’s Grand Cherokee on the usually uncrowded street and fights his way through the assembly at the entrance to the store. The masses are pushing him back, and he threatens to throw elbows if they don’t let him into his own goddamn store _right goddamn now_. A number of phones are pointed his way, presumably recording him, but he doesn’t care. He is _livid_ , and everyone here deserves to know it.

Particularly the man who’s at the center of the shitstorm.

That man is easy to find, wearing a hairnet and gloves and _screaming_ , cursing and using his considerable size to intimidate people to step back from him. 

“...and I fucking _told_ you all to get the _fuck_ out of this store! If you’re not customers, you don’t belong here!”

Someone shouts a question Castiel doesn’t catch.

“I’m _working_ , what the fuck does it look like I’m doing? And no”—he points to someone in the crowd—“this isn’t a _stunt_. It’s a _job._ ”

“Who’s the baby? Is it yours? Is that woman the mother?”

“That baby is none of your goddamn business. He’s not mine, that’s all you need to know. You leave him the hell out of your stories. Same with the woman, who is my _co-worker_ and nothing more.”

“Why are you hiding?”

“Dude, I’m just trying to have the life I want.”

“This is the life you want?”

“Yes, it is. Q and A’s over; I got lunches to make and you’re all loitering, which is a crime, so get out.”

“What about the rumor that you made all the damage in that wall?”

Now Castiel’s steaming for a completely different reason. His anger at Dean has disappeared, dismissed as unfounded almost immediately. Instead, he feels compelled to protect Dean, his child, Patience, and his store. He pushes his way forward until he’s standing in front of Dean. “You all need to leave, right now,” he growls. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m the owner of this store, so—”

“Did Dean cause all that damage?”

“Was he drunk?”

“Why does Dean Winchester work for you?”

“What’s his relationship with the woman who was here?”

“Has he been hosting sex parties in the back room after hours?”

“How often has he shown up hungover?”

Castiel shoots the crowd incredulous looks. “You’re all ridiculous. Get a life and get out of his.”

Dean says nothing behind him...or at least he doesn’t until someone shouts something Castiel doesn’t hear in all the noise.

“You fucking asshole,” he yells, his eyes flashing with fury. He looks ready to jump over the counter. Castiel holds him back, telling him it’s not worth it. Dean seems to disagree, but he calms in Castiel’s hands. “Fuck off,” he settles on shouting instead of pummeling the person who offended him.

Gratefully, the police show up. Donna and Jody break up the crowd, gathering names and issuing warnings. The store is soon cleared except for customers, who are chatting amongst themselves and trying to make it look like they aren’t. Patience comes from the back room with Matthew. She assures Castiel he was too busy eating to be disturbed by all the commotion. 

“Dean did a really great job,” she murmurs to Castiel privately as she hands the baby to him for snuggles. “He was as shocked as I was, then pissed. He sent us to the back right away to protect Matthew. He didn’t want him involved in any of that.”

“That sounds like a very Dean thing to do,” Castiel responds softly, ashamed he ever doubted him. “You did great, Patience. Thank you.”

“No problem. I got a bunch of Italians to make. Fell behind on the orders, obviously.”

“Right. I’ll help,” he smiles. 

The three of them work as a team, getting the lunch orders filled. Their customers reassure Dean, but also don’t miss a chance to tease him, telling him the incident was the most exciting thing to happen in Lupine Cove since that singer got arrested for public indecency last summer. The tension eventually recedes...at least until the store is quiet again.

“Can we talk, Cas?” Dean asks him, not meeting his eyes.

They step into the back room. They’ve barely closed the door when Dean bursts, “I swear to God I don’t know how they found me. I’ve been so fucking careful, I—” 

“I know.”

“You must be pissed at me.”

“I was—”

Dean’s face falls.

“—for about a minute, Dean. I, uh, jump to conclusions sometimes, mostly negative ones, and I got nervous and mad that you weren’t who I thought you were. Then I saw what you were doing and all that went away. You were exactly the man I’ve known you to be. I was really happy about that.”

Shoulders dropping, Dean manages a hesitant smile. “Thanks. I tried to keep Matthew and Patience away from those damn vultures—”

“I know, and thank you. That’s very much who you are, Dean. I’m not surprised at all.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I brought all this—”

“It’s not your fault. These people...it’s their job to hunt people down and stir things up.”

“Yeah. They got what they wanted, too—me yelling, making a scene. It’ll be all over the place, and it’ll be out of context so I’ll look like the asshole. All the shit I’ve been fighting to get away from, that perception of me that was never true…” He trails off, his jaw clamping shut and tears forming in his eyes.

Castiel draws him into a hug that Dean immediately falls into, his body heavy and tense. “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” he murmurs. “It’s not fair. But remember that there are a lot of people who know the truth, okay? We know the truth about you. We know who you are.”

“Wish everyone else knew it. I’m tired of being seen as a brainless fuckboy,” he grumbles. “But thanks. Really.” He sniffles against Castiel’s neck as his shoulders soften, finally relaxing fully in his embrace. 

Castiel wishes that everyone else knew it, too. It isn’t fair that Dean keeps getting pushed into a box he doesn’t belong in. He deserves to be who he wants to be.

And Castiel decides he’s going to do something about it. 

That night, he texts Charlie:

_Cas 8:22pm: How do I make something go viral?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang sings “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” which was made famous by the Tokens but was originally recorded by Solomon Linda (and called “Mbube”).
> 
> Well, seems like Cas is making some decisions for his future! Maybe he’ll make some others soon...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is beautiful, fluffy art by the lovely dmsilvisart in this chapter! Check out their Tumblr [here](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/)!

He’s shocked at the attention.

Charlie is not only a terrific social worker, but she’s very handy with computers and social media, so of course he turned to her and he was right to do it. She did a great job helping him pull his scattered, angry thoughts into something coherent and heart-tugging, something that would make everyone take notice. But even before she did that, she listened to him as he poured out all his anger at the paparazzi, Dean’s father, the producers of all of his reality shows, and anyone else who ever made Dean out to be some sort of clown. She nodded and _mmmhmm_ d and agreed that Dean is a great guy. He didn’t like the little smile on her face when she said it, but he let that go. He’ll always be grateful to her for dropping everything and coming to his house, his favorite ice cream in hand, and listening to him ramble.

He posted his content this morning, a couple of days after the incident at the store. This ensured that people saw the shitty media sensationalism first (which Charlie said was good) and also that he was posting on a day when most people would see it. She said that the juxtaposition between what they were showing and what Castiel was showing would be eye-opening. 

Almost all of the feedback on his post is extremely positive, which pleases Castiel immensely. He hopes that this helps turn the tide a bit on the current blast of media attention that Dean is facing. People have been calling him, messaging him, and showing up at the store since the whole thing happened on Wednesday, so much so that Castiel told him to take the day off today because he wanted him to take a break from it all. He even got Sam and Gabe to take him on a day trip out of town so he could truly distance himself—and, admittedly, keep him away from the store, both for his own good and for Castiel’s. As much as he meant every word of what he said, he’s feeling shy and anxious about Dean seeing it and what his reaction will be. 

At 8:00, after a long, long day, he sends Jack home, does the cash out, cleans the bathroom, sweeps, then packs up to go home himself. Charlie picked up Matthew at 4:30 so he wouldn’t have to stay at the store any longer, so once his tasks are done he takes the time alone to simply breathe. He glances at the boarded-up wall, which will soon be fixed. He wonders if Dean will stick around after that. Sometimes he still has doubts. But whatever he decides to do, he hopes Dean will do it because _he_ wants to do it, not because he feels forced to. He cares enough about him to want him to have the life he wants. 

Selfishly, though, he hopes he stays.

Just before he heads out the door at 8:40, he remembers to check his phone, which he’d left on the counter after closing. He frowns as he reads his missed texts:

_Charlie 8:02pm: Hey, I didn’t get a chance to text you until now. I had to ask your brother to come over for Matthew around 5:30 because I got called to work. Sorry! XO_

That, in and of itself, doesn’t concern him. Charlie is often called at odd hours; it comes with the job. It’s the text after it that sends him into a panic:

_Gabriel 8:09pm: Matthew fell asleep at Dean’s. He’s still there. I have an early flight tomorrow so Sam and I are heading home for a proper goodbye, heh heh_

Staring at the screen, he attempts a few deep breaths. He didn’t want to face Dean just yet, and at the same time there’s no one else he wants to see. _Damn it._ “Well, now I have to,” he mutters to the empty store. “Hopefully he’s not pissed. But he wouldn’t be, right? I mean, he doesn’t _want_ that reputation anymore. Unless he wants it all to just go away and I’ve now invited even more attention.” He rubs his hand across his tired eyes. “And now I’m talking to myself. I have been alone way too long.”

Castiel snickers at himself, then takes one more deep breath, conjures a little mental brain bleach for that “proper goodbye” comment of Gabe’s, then grips his keys tightly and strides out of the store to pick up his son at Dean’s.

He pulls into Dean’s driveway at 8:55 and instantly feels bad, both for the time and for his own selfishness. If he’d known Dean was taking care of Matthew, he would’ve saved all but the cashup for tomorrow and come earlier, and yet he didn’t even think of Dean’s inconvenience until now, preoccupied as he was with his own angst. He looks toward the house and sees Dean pass by the window, probably to let him in. His stomach twists and flips. Castiel isn’t sure if it’s because he’s excited or sick.

The door opens to him before he even has a chance to knock.

“You wrote this?” Dean asks softly, phone in hand.

Castiel peers at it, though he doesn’t have to. He remembers the video he recorded secretly from one of the aisles—Dean behind the counter at the store, dancing slowly and singing Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” with Matthew in his arms—and every word of the post:

_This is Dean Winchester._

_You think you know him._

_But I know the real Dean Winchester._

_The real Dean Winchester is a simple man, a humble man._

_He works at a convenience store and he takes it seriously. He does a great job and he’s never missed a day of work._

_He’s a great friend. His friends describe him as funny, sincere, humble, and always willing to lend a hand._

_He doesn’t get blackout drunk. He doesn’t do drugs._

_His favorite thing to do is to spend time with his friends, either hanging out or helping them with whatever they need._

_Yes, he had an accident with his car and ended up crashing into my store._

_For the record, he was not under the influence. He swerved to avoid hitting me and my son, who were crossing the street, and the road was icy so he lost control of his vehicle. He saved our lives while endangering his own._

_Dean Winchester dances with my son and sings to him. He holds him as if he’s the most precious thing in the world—which he is, to me._

_I would never let the Dean Winchester you think you know hold my son._

_But this Dean Winchester? Absolutely._

_The drivel the media want you to believe about him is false. In the incident at my store that’s currently all over the place, he was yelling, yes—yelling at the paparazzi for disturbing his co-worker and my son, for disrupting business, and for harassing him at his workplace, which they were doing mercilessly. But they don’t tell you that. They only tell you what they want you to believe, show you what they want you to see. That’s all the media’s ever shown you—this narrative to sell him as someone he’s not._

_Well, friends, this is what I want you to see—this video I caught when he wasn’t looking, these words he doesn’t know I’m writing._

_I want you to see the Dean Winchester who sings my son to sleep._

_I want you to see the Dean Winchester who has an MBA and enough money to buy me out several times over but makes sandwiches and cleans bathrooms not only without complaint, but with a smile._

_I want you to see the Dean Winchester who respects people, who has good friends and customers who adore him._

_This is the real Dean Winchester._

_I invite anyone else who knows this Dean Winchester to step up and share your story. Tag it #TheRealDeanWinchester and let people know what an incredible guy he really is._

__

  
Castiel nods. “Yes, I wrote it.” 

When Dean simply stares at him with bright, shiny green eyes, he shrugs. 

Dean pulls him into the tightest yet softest hug he’s ever received, his body heaving with quiet, deep breaths. He’s warm, almost damp, and Castiel has to grip Dean’s shirt just to keep himself from falling over with all the buzzing in his veins.

“Thank you,” Dean whispers.

Castiel hugs him tighter. Dean squeezes him hard, too, then breaks the embrace with a lingering touch.

“Um, come in,” Dean rasps, then clears his throat and swipes his eyes. “Cold out there.”

“It’ll be cold out there until at least May,” Castiel jokes, attempting to dissipate all the _feeling_ in the air.

Dean grins. “Well, damn. Guess I won’t be lying on the beach any time soon. You hungry?”

Thinking about the PB&J he ate at 6:30, he says casually, “I could eat.”

“I bet. You probably ate next to nothing.” Dean leads them into the kitchen. “Sit. You want a beer or anything?”

“Sure.”

Dean pulls out two cans of a local craft beer from the refrigerator and places them on the island where Castiel is seated, then dives back into the fridge. He drops bell peppers, chicken, sauce, and some sort of odd-looking cheese on the counter. Setting water to boil in a large pot, he then starts slicing the chicken into strips. 

“Can I help?” Castiel asks.

“Nope. You worked fourteen hours today, not even counting how early you had to get up for Matt and all you did for him. Just sit there and look pretty.”

He knows Dean didn’t mean anything by it, nor by the teasing wink, but he feels his palms sweat anyway. “I can do _something_.”

“I don’t trust you with sharp things right now.”

“Dean.”

“Fine, Mr. Stubborn.” Dean takes a box from the cabinet and slides it across the island to him. “Dump the penne in when the water starts boiling. That’s all you’re allowed to do.”

Castiel makes a show of rolling his eyes, but he really is tired and is grateful that someone else is doing the cooking. He sits and watches Dean deftly slice the ingredients for the dinner he’s making—a dinner he’s making for Castiel. _Finally, a beautiful man is cooking for me_. He wishes he could enjoy it more, wishes it meant more...but he can savor the simple yet meaningful act of a friend cooking for a friend all the same. That’s good, too. Not _as_ good, but good. _Still, it would be nice if he made dinner, then we dragged ourselves to bed, full and tired, and cuddled together, and in the morning…_ He scolds himself both for not appreciating what Dean’s doing for what it is and for objectifying his friend, telling himself to stop letting his mind wander. He thinks about what interesting things happened today that he could tell Dean about and comes up with nothing because nothing of interest happened. _So in the morning we could—_

“So Cas, what do you think?”

Castiel blinks. “What?”

“About what I just said? What do you think?”

Panicked because he has no idea what Dean said, he stammers, “I, uh, I think your opinion matters more than mine.”

“Well, ultimately, sure, but this is really important, so I want your honest, most thorough opinion on it.”

“Uh, well, I agree with you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“So what parts did you agree with most?”

“All of it.”

“Thanks, but it would really make me feel better if you could tell me just one little part you agreed with the most.”

Castiel swallows as Dean stares expectantly. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, Castiel fishing in his memory bank for _anything_ Dean could’ve said that filtered through his foolish fantasy. Then Dean breaks into laughter, slapping his hand on the granite island. 

Castiel has been had. “You asshole,” he mutters.

Dean howls. “Ooh, Cas, you were out of it for at least a solid five minutes. I swear you fell asleep with your eyes open.”

“Shut up.” He ducks his face to hide the embarrassment staining his cheeks (as if Dean didn’t see it). 

Still chuckling, Castiel feels Dean fold his arms around him and muss his hair. “I admit, your line about my opinion mattering more than yours was a good one. Probably would’ve sold me if I had actually been talking about anything.”

 _He wasn’t even talking about anything?_ Castiel swears he’s done nothing but mortify himself in front of this man. He curses into Dean’s shirt, which makes Dean laugh heartily once more and squeeze him tightly.

“Don’t worry about it, I was just messing with you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re tired, man. See, this is why I didn’t want you handling the sharp stuff. You didn’t even throw the pasta in.”

“Fuck.”

Dean snorts, then releases him. “Dinner’s just about ready. Go splash some water on your face so you don’t fall into your plate.”

He does and feels marginally better. But what really helps him feel better is Dean’s delicious meal. He praises it profusely, praise that Dean accepts cheekily at first, then with a soft bloom of pink across his features. 

The conversation is easy, as it always is with Dean. He tells Castiel how his day was and what they did—a trip along the coast, scouting out locations for Gabe’s next movie and Sam’s next book. He reports that he gave them both some good ideas, and that it felt great to be taken seriously and to use the shitty experiences he had on all those TV shows for something good. Dean finally got to eat a real seafood dinner, too, with which he seems to be quite pleased. Castiel wishes he could’ve been there with him—them. With them. 

When Dean asks him about his day, he tries to deflect, but Dean won’t have it. He comforts himself with the fact that Dean already knows how pathetic his life is as he talks about how he had to put on his extra sweater because it took the store a while to warm up this morning, how he had to substitute the veggie straws that Anna likes in the order he placed because he can’t get the other ones anymore, the supposedly hilarious thing on TikTok that Jack showed him that Castiel still doesn’t understand, how he researched whether he should buy or make Matthew’s baby food when business was slow, and how the cashup was exactly right, down to the penny. Dean is inordinately interested in the humdrum minutiae of Castiel’s day, asking questions as he leans forward, chin tucked into his hand. Castiel thinks he’s either that starved for human contact or he’s a little bit nuts, because there’s no way anything he’s saying warrants that kind of rapt attention.

Castiel glances reluctantly at the clock once his pasta is eaten and his beer is drained. “Guess it’s that time. Past that time, actually. Where’s Matthew?” 

“In the kids’ room,” Dean says with a tight smile. 

The kids’ room has a pair of bunk beds on one side. On the other side is a crib in a dark cherry color. Matthew is sleeping peacefully on the soft cotton sheet, sprawled out on his back. Castiel’s heart clenches sometimes when he watches him sleep, and this is certainly one of those times, seeing his sweet baby at utter peace and knowing that Dean is the one who made him feel so safe and loved. 

“Shame to disturb him,” Dean whispers.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You—you don’t have to, you know. You could stay here.”

He hopes his voice isn’t stuttering as much as his heart is when he says, “I—I have to work tomorrow, and we need things—”

“There’s enough in that diaper bag for an entire weekend, Cas. And if you need clothes, you can borrow some of mine. Is there anything you really need at home?”

No. No, there isn’t. “Um, no, but—”

“Come on. You’re exhausted and he’s sound asleep.”

Castiel glances down at Matthew. “I don’t know—”

“You can sleep anywhere you waa-ant,” he sing-songs. Castiel turns his head to the right just enough to catch Dean wiping his mouth with his palm. “I mean, you have your choice of rooms. And you wouldn’t have to share with him for once. Unless you want to.”

The offer is tempting, and it’s only getting later, and he really shouldn’t wake a sleeping baby… “I—I _could_ —”

“I’ll show you the rooms,” Dean grins. He drags Castiel by the wrist to each of the other four bedrooms. Dean’s own is the last, a large master with a king-size bed, a sitting area, an en suite bath, and floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding French doors that lead to a balcony. He steps to them to look out at the ocean. 

“Nice, huh?” 

“Yes. It must be incredible to see the sunrise from here.”

“Uh, I wouldn’t know. Never seen it.”

Castiel turns to Dean, who’s much closer than he expected. “Never? Wow. One of the reasons why I’ve always admired this house is because of the view I imagined it must have. I think I’d wake up early every day just to see it.”

“Well, you can see it tomorrow for yourself.”

Heart racing, Castiel says, “What do you mean?”

“I mean you can stay in here.”

They’re facing each other just steps from the bed that has plenty of room for both of them. But Dean can’t possibly be suggesting anything that Castiel might hope he is. Speechless for a moment, he finally manages, “Wh—uh, where, uh, where would you...I mean, I can’t take your room—”

“Oh, it’s, uh, not a big deal. I got other places I can sleep. Don’t wanna miss the sunrise, do you?”

Castiel’s heart is beating so fast, he’s not sure how he’s still standing. “Uh, the room next to Matthew is fine. That way I can hear him if he wakes up.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah, of course, that makes sense. So, okay, come on, I’ll get you set up.”

Thirty minutes later, Castiel is lying in a bedroom in the house he’s dreamed about for years. It should be a treat to have all this luxury, all this space, all this solitude. But it isn’t. It’s lonely. He thinks about everything he’s ever really, truly wanted, and ultimately, when he pares it down, the list is very small. He slips out of bed and wanders to the window, which he’s sure will have just as lovely a view of the sunrise as Dean’s room. Seeing a sunrise from this house didn’t even make his list, he muses. When he parts the curtain, he notices a warm, muted light against the darkness of the night. Dean’s room. Castiel stares at it for a long time before he finally surrenders to his body’s need to sleep and crawls into the big, empty bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of the post Cas made? Think he might be having a few...feelings?
> 
> The song Dean sang to Matthew is “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen. Can’t you just see him cradling a baby and singing this? (Of course you can, because of the beautiful art!) Sigh... There are lots of great versions of this song to check out.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some bits of naughty stuff in here, so be forewarned if you’re reading this in public. 😊

After only two weeks, the bedroom Castiel spent the night in that Friday has become “his” room, and sleepovers have become more frequent.

The morning after the first night, Castiel slept through the sunrise...until 7:20, in fact, when he needed to be at the store for 8:00. Dean greeted him with a “Hey sunshine,” a smiling baby, and fresh towels and clothes. He shoved him out the door half an hour later with a breakfast BLT and a promise to bring Matthew to him after his morning nap. When he did, both Matthew and Castiel were feeling more well-rested than usual, which helped them have a better day. Castiel thought maybe wearing Dean’s clothes helped, too. 

Throughout that week, Dean had hinted that he wanted Castiel to spend the night again, so he did on Thursday after being convinced that they “both had to get up and go to the same place anyway” on Friday and so he “might as well.” It felt good to wake up and get ready for the day together, to share breakfast and see Dean’s Cherokee right behind him when they drove into work. He hadn’t planned to spend the night, so Friday found him once again in Dean’s clothes. He got comments from his employees and from Ana Jo, who told Dean that she liked his outfit as she pointed at Castiel. Castiel gave her a murderous look, while Dean laughed it off.

After that, he started packing a bag for himself, just in case.

Today, Castiel left work at 3:00 so that he and Dean could take Matthew to the Children’s Museum in Portland. Matthew hasn’t had a lot of exposure to other children, and he wanted him to have that before he starts daycare with Katie, Zeke’s girlfriend, next week. (Too little, too late, he knew, but he had to feel like he did _something_.) It went incredibly well, Matthew enjoying the toys and the atmosphere immensely, as well as the attention of his two favorite playthings. 

After the museum, they met up with Gabe and Sam, Ana Jo, and Anna. Castiel had been uncertain about Anna coming because Dean always seems so nervous around her, but they were completely relaxed, joking and laughing like old friends. He tried not to stare, but the obvious difference in their interaction was unsettling. Maybe he’d just been put off by her bold behavior before? Maybe she’d won him over? She wasn’t being flirtatious at all, and maybe that’s what he liked. He tried to be happy for them, but found it more difficult than he wanted to admit, so he focused all his attention on Matthew. Dean must have noticed something was off, because he reached across Matthew’s feet under the table and squeezed Castiel’s knee, asking him if he was all right. Castiel came up with some bullshit about being tired and having a lot on his mind (though, really, being tired and having a lot on his mind was a constant state for him, so it wasn’t _untrue_ ), and Dean flashed him soft, sympathetic eyes as he rubbed and patted his knee before letting go. 

They broke up around 7:30, Castiel wanting to get Matthew home for bed at a decent hour. Dean rode in with him, but he didn’t want Dean to feel obligated to end his evening so soon, so Castiel quietly told Dean that it was okay if he wanted to get a ride with someone else. “Nah,” he’d said without a second thought. “I’d rather go home with you guys.”

So they did, and now they’re here in Dean’s living room because Dean somehow convinced him to stay the night even after the Anna thing. Castiel can’t stop thinking about the Anna thing, though, so over Old Fashioneds he blurts, “So, you and Anna seem to be better.”

“Yeah,” Dean grins. “She’s good people.”

“She is. Um, so, what turned that around?”

“We met up for coffee one day and talked.”

“Oh. Guess you just needed some alone time?”

“Well, I mean, we weren’t really alone, but yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Good. She’s great. She comes on a little strong, but she’s really sweet once you get to know her.”

“Yeah, she is. Learned a lot about her tonight, actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Like she loves baseball? Never would have guessed that.”

“She goes to several games a year at Fenway.”

“Yeah, she told me that she’s taken you to a few. She also said she drank you under the table once?” He says it with a teasing grin that mixes up Castiel’s brain cells.

“Just once,” he smiles back. He’d love to keep that smile on Dean’s face all for himself, but instead he decides to be a good friend and say, “Yeah, Anna’s awesome. So, um, what’s next for you two?”

“Next?”

“Yeah. Are you two going to see each other?”

Dean frowns. “Like, date?”

“Yes. Or do you not date?”

“Uh, no, I mean, I’m not interested in her like that.”

“You’re not?”

“Nah. That’s what we talked about.”

“And she just...stopped?” Truthfully, Anna is extremely confident in herself and could be assertive to the point of aggressive when she wanted to be, so this is a bit surprising. 

“Yup. Backed right off.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad.” The knots in his stomach unravel. “I hated to see you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine. We got it all straightened out.”

“Good.”

Dean’s eyes dart around his face. “Yeah.”

The blood thrums in Castiel’s veins. “Well, a toast to the two of you becoming friends, then.”

“To friends,” Dean concurs, raising his glass and never taking his eyes off him. 

Castiel downs his drink in one long swallow. “Huh, uh, well, I have to work tomorrow,” he says, raspy from alcohol and breathless from Dean’s presence. “Um, thanks for coming to the museum with us. I’m sure being around a bunch of babies is probably not your favorite way to spend a Saturday.”

“Pfft, you wanna talk about hanging out with babies, you should hang out with reality stars sometime.” Dean looks delighted at Castiel’s surprised laugh. He adds, softer and more seriously, “I loved hanging out with you and Matt today. Thanks for inviting me.”

Castiel isn’t certain whether Dean’s sassiness or his sincerity summons the heat to his face more. “No problem. I...I loved it, too.”

Dean smiles, his eyes dewy in the lamplight as his fingers caress the short glass in his hand. 

His lazy fingers and lazy smile have Castiel shooting to his feet, nearly tripping over both himself and the coffee table. “Clearly I’ve had too much,” he jokes, though he really hasn’t. Dean’s eyes widen in concern, though, and he stands and grabs Castiel’s biceps to steady him, which just makes this whole thing so much worse.

“Easy, sunshine,” Dean rumbles. “Don’t want you to break that pretty face of yours.”

A short, not-at-all-easy laugh, one he hopes doesn’t sound hysterical, slips from Castiel’s throat. “Uh, I hardly think it would make a difference.” He steps out of Dean’s grip, glass still in hand. “Anyway, I’m a klutz, so I’d better head up before I really do break something. Night.” With a quirk of his lips and a wiggle of his fingers, he turns, bumps into the corner of the table, and walks calmly up the stairs and into his bedroom, where he falls onto the pillow that is starting to smell like him and prays for Dean to develop amnesia and forget the last couple of hours. Or for Castiel to. Either would work.

Maybe it’ll all look better in the morning.

_“Morning, sunshine.”_

_He smiles softly and buries his face in the covers._

_“Time to wake up.”_

_Castiel doesn’t move._

_“We’re going to be laaa-aate.” Warm, strong hands slip under the covers and massage the tiny, middle-age cricks out of his neck._

_Castiel hums and sighs, then settles into the blankets again._

_“The car’s all packed. Don’t you want to get away together?”_

_Castiel purrs a small, contented sound, but doesn’t move._

_“I guess if going away with me doesn’t excite you, I’ll have to excite you in other ways,” his boyfriend murmurs, slowly drawing the covers down and brushing his mouth along his neck, his spine, the soft flesh above his hip. He opens his eyes, smiling as his boyfriend’s soft green eyes meet his and he starts to sing…_

When Castiel wakes, he’s rock-hard and desperate for release. “Fucking hell,” he whispers, knowing he shouldn’t but unfastening the jeans he never took off and stripping his cock anyway, needing the outlet for all his bottled longing. He rolls over and thrusts against the comforter, gripping the top edge as he drives himself closer, closer. Dean floats into his mind, his smile and his eyes and his glow from within, and soon he’s coming hard, biting the pillow he passed out on last night to muffle the noise of one hell of an orgasm. For a minute he enjoys the floaty headspace, his body tingling and his mouth stretched in a wide, gaping smile. And then, abruptly, he realizes what he’s done and crashes.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he sits up. His release is a splotch of darker green on the jade bedspread. He glances at his phone for the time. Dean won’t be awake right now. He cleans himself with the comforter, then pulls up his boxer briefs and jeans and tugs his shirt and zip-up hoodie over the waistband. He strips the comforter from the bed, then sneaks out of the bedroom and down the stairs, remembering the laundry room is somewhere on the first floor. 

After treating the stain, he stuffs the comforter into the large-capacity washing machine. He sets it for a quick wash, hoping to get this all done before Dean wakes. Quietly, he steps out of the laundry room, closing the door behind him. 

Something brushes his shoulder.

“Jesus, fuck, cocksucker!” he shouts, turning toward the _something_ as he throws himself against the door he just closed. He gasps for breath as one hand flies to his chest and the other to his mouth.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Dean whispers, and even in the barely-there light Castiel can tell he’s trying hard not to laugh. 

He uncovers his mouth. “Yeah, I bet.”

Dean laughs in earnest then, though quietly.

“Shut up.” He shoves his friend (and the subject of his orgasmic fantasy). “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Now you know what it’s like for the rest of us when you walk around in Ninja Stealth mode,” he cracks. “What are you doing?” 

“Laundry.”

“Huh. Is that what those machines are for?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You’re nice enough to let me stay, so I figured I’d help out and wash the bedding.”

“At 4:30 in the morning?”

He shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage. “I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.” He folds his arms and squints. “What are _you_ doing up?” 

Now Dean is the one shrugging and folding his arms. “Heard you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

They stand in the hall, shuffling their feet. 

“You’re wearing your clothes from last night.”

“Fell asleep in them.”

“Huh. Guess you were more out of it than I thought.”

No amnesia, then. Castiel sighs at the reminder of what an ass he made of himself last night (but what else is new?) and responds in the affirmative.

“No sunrise to see today,” Dean murmurs after a moment. “Too bad.”

Castiel heard the rain against the glass when he was stripping the bed. “Yeah.”

“You heading back to bed?”

“No. Matthew will be up in a bit, and I don’t think I could sleep, anyway.”

“Mmm. You want company?”

“You don’t want to go back to bed?”

He imagines (he _must_ imagine) the briefest of pauses and twitch of Dean’s brows before he answers, “Nah. You’re up. Wouldn’t be a good host if I went back to bed.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that—”

“I wanna hang out with you.”

At the hopefulness in Dean’s voice, Castiel agrees. 

* * *

It’s strange to show up at work without Matthew on Monday. 

His distress must be obvious, because Dean calls him _cloudy_ instead of the usual _sunshine._

“Cloudy?”

“Oh, you’re still sunshine, but your rays are hidden right now,” he teases. He offers him a paper cup. “Matcha tea latte. That is some weird green shit.”

Castiel snorts as he takes a sip. He keeps his face impassive as he offers it to Dean. “Have you ever tried it? Try it.”

Dean casts him a doubtful look, but takes the cup from his hands and sips from it. He scrunches his nose and hands it back. “It tastes like grass and regret.”

“Like creamy vegetable compost stirred with twigs.”

His face falling, he says, “Oh, shit, you don’t like it.”

“I’d never had it before.” He smirks and chuckles, “And now I know that I won’t again.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I thought today might be hard for you, and so I thought I’d bring you a little something to help, but—”

“Dean.” Castiel grasps his elbow. “Thank you. Really. The thought means much more than the drink.”

He glances at Castiel’s hand, then says, “Um, well, guess I’ll have to work hard to distract you, then.”

“I always enjoy your company.”

Flustered and surprised at himself for saying such saccharine (yet true) nonsense, he lets go of Dean’s arm. “Anyway—”

“Me too, Cas.”

Castiel hides the thrill of his words behind a small smile. “Thanks. Um, we should get started before the crew arrives.”

The construction crew starts precisely at 8:00, which is challenging from a business standpoint but keeps Castiel busy enough so that he isn’t thinking of Matthew every minute. Between the construction, the customers, and Dean’s distraction tactics, the day flies by. He feels better knowing that Dean was going right over to Katie’s when he left work, and even better when both he and Katie call with excellent reports. The pictures of a happy Matthew that Dean sends him help, too.

Every day gets a little easier after the first, and every day he’s a little more convinced that maybe everything will work out. Bobby tells him each day that things are running smoothly and that they have plenty of money. Katie always has good things to say about Matthew, even on his cranky days. Dean picks him up every day but Wednesday from daycare so he’s not there for twelve-to-fourteen-hour days, and his parents, back home after snowbirding for the winter, pick him up on Wednesday (not because Dean wouldn’t, but because Castiel insisted he not take every day). Castiel finally swallowed his pride and let Charlie—or the State, rather—pay for his daycare, as he’s still under their guardianship until he’s officially adopted. His business account, while not massive, has definitely grown in the last several months with all the hours he’s worked, even factoring in Dean’s pay. Matthew’s getting older and developing well. He’s been seeing his friends regularly. And Dean...well, he’s still here.

A week and a half into the construction chaos, they have an unseasonably warm day. 

“It’s fuckin’ beautiful out there!” Dean crows. 

The poor man must miss California’s warmth. Castiel certainly would. “Don’t get used to it,” he grins, knowing the temperatures will be dropping throughout the day and will even dip to below normal before leveling out over the weekend.

Dean ignores his realism. “We should go enjoy it,” he declares. 

After the lunch rush, Dean talks him into taking a walk. They leave Patience to manage the store while they stroll down the main drag, Castiel pointing out places that will be opening their doors soon. They stop at a diner a couple of blocks away and eat burgers, dogs, fries, and blueberry pie. Dean used to tease him (and customers) for eating the artificially red dogs that snap when you bite into them, but he’s since become a convert. Afterward, they step outside to head back to the store. The wind has picked up off the ocean, and the temperatures are falling. 

“Holy shit, it got fucking cold!” Dean mutters, rubbing at his arms. 

“Told you to bring a jacket.”

“Told you to bring a jacket,” he parrots snidely. 

Castiel shoots a sly smile his way. Dean, to his surprise, smiles back, then links his arm with Castiel’s and snuggles close to him as they walk.

Despite the privacy the townspeople afford the celebrities who come around, they’re still _people_...people who look and people who gossip. Plus, who knows if there are any paparazzi still lurking about? It makes Castiel nervous for his friend. “Dean.”

“Hmm?”

“You want my jacket?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Um, well, you may not want to, uh, walk like this with me.”

“Why not?”

 _Is it possible he doesn’t know? He_ **_has_ ** _to know. Did he forget?_ “People will see, and people will say things about you.”

“Say what?”

Castiel swallows hard. He resents that this should even be something he has to warn anyone about. “I’m gay, Dean.”

“I know,” he says, still walking and hanging on.

“Which means people will assume you’re gay, too, walking the way we are. They’ll assume we’re dating.”

“Oh.” Castiel watches as he processes the implication. “And you don’t want them to?”

“What? No, _I_ don’t care. I figured _you_ would care.”

“Why would I care?”

“Because you’re not gay?”

“So? Who wouldn’t want eye candy like you on their arm?”

“Dean.”

“Listen, I got no problem walking down the street with you like this. People don’t like it, that’s on them. I’m sick of living for other people.”

Dean’s making a choice for himself, and he’s choosing this. It gives Castiel a stupid little thrill, even though there’s nothing that will come of it.

“Besides,” Dean adds with a casual air, “they wouldn’t be far off.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asks as they cross the street and onto the sidewalk in front of the store.

Dean drops his arm. He grabs the door handle, turns to Castiel, and says casually, “I’m bisexual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh, Dean dropping that bomb and then going back to work! Wonder how those sleepovers will go now? 😏


	14. Chapter 14

“And then he just—BOOM! ‘I’m bisexual’! I nearly choked!” Castiel screeches across the table at two of his best friends. Anna is away for her cousin’s wedding in Atlanta. “He’s bisexual! Which means...probably nothing in relation to me, but _fuck_ , do you know how hard this will be now?”

“Quite hard, I bet,” Ana Jo smirks as she peers pointedly toward his crotch. Charlie slaps her hand in a high five.

“Oh, very funny. Seriously, you guys.”

“I don’t know why you think this is such a problem, Cas. I see this as an opportunity.”

“Ana.”

“I do! He’s hot for you!”

“Him being bisexual doesn’t mean he’s hot for me. That’s not how it works.” He blows a frustrated breath. “It’s just that now that I _know_ , there’s...ugh, my brain was already doing things it shouldn’t, and now, knowing he’d be into those things with a man?” He covers his face and moans pathetically.

“It doesn’t mean he’s _not_ hot for you, either.”

“And,” Charlie adds, “I’m quite certain he’s hot for you. My gaydar is never wrong.”

“Oh? So why didn’t you tell me he’s bi?”

“Dude, you know it’s not cool to out people.”

Castiel drags his hands off his face. “I know, but you could’ve helped me out.”

“Helped? You seem more miserable now than before. And if you knew that info and couldn’t even share that you knew that info, that would’ve been worse. _And_ if, for once, I actually _was_ wrong?” She cringes. “Awkwaaaard.”

Ana Jo steers them back on topic. “Honey, anyone could look at that boy and tell that he has a major crush on you.”

“I don’t see it.”

“You _never_ see it, my hopelessly oblivious darling.” She holds up her fingers and ticks off the names of several men, then says, “All of them flirted with you, and you did _nothing_. They would’ve had to flash it on a Jumbotron for you to notice.”

Charlie pipes up. “That’s pretty generous, Ana. I think they’d have to get married, have kids, and celebrate their fiftieth anniversary before he’d be like, ‘Yeah, okay, I guess he likes me.’”

“Castiel be like, ‘I wonder if he’s interested’ as his dick is penetrating the guy’s ass.”

“Castiel’s like, ‘Wonder if I have a shot with him?’ as the guy’s giving him a kidney.”

“‘Mmm, I might be reading the signs wrong,’ Cas says as the guy is diving in front of him to take a bullet.” 

They dissolve into giggles. 

“Ha ha,” Castiel sneers, then shrugs. He thought he’d seen interest from many of those men, but he couldn’t understand why they’d be interested. “I like to be sure, that’s all.”

“But I know you had some inkling that those guys liked you,” Ana Jo points out. “It’s just that you get so insecure about yourself sometimes, hon.”

“I know—”

“And it’s so undeserved, Cas. You are an amazing person, and I don’t say that about everyone. Hardly anyone, honestly.”

“You gotta open yourself up and let yourself believe that,” Charlie adds. “It’s hard for guys to show interest in you if you just keep deflecting.”

“I have opened myself up. I’ve had a few...brief relationships. Hey, I even managed to keep one for a year.”

“And Zee was an asshole. Though really, you could’ve fought a little harder in that situation.”

Castiel shoots a hurt look at Charlie. 

“Not that I think you should have, and not that he shouldn’t have fought for you, too. I’m just saying that when Zee’s work thing was over, you could’ve asked him to stay.”

“Stay? Here? With me? That’s—”

“Perfectly reasonable. You guys were together a year.”

“He had...bigger, better things—”

“But _you_ should’ve been the best thing, Cas,” Ana Jo jumps in. “He should’ve thought it about you, and _you_ should’ve thought it about yourself. And, I mean, I’m not a fan of his, you know that, and I’m not in _any_ way defending him, but maybe he...maybe he was waiting for you to ask him to stay, or to ask to go with him.”

“And leave my business, my family and friends—”

“That you always dreamed about leaving? You know, hon, for a guy who always wanted to get away, you _chose_ to stay here. Why?”

Castiel sips his tea and thinks back to the mental list he made that first night he slept at Dean’s, the list of everything he’s ever really, truly wanted...and he thinks he finally understands why he never asked Zee to stay or asked to go with him. But he doesn’t want to share that right now. Instead, he asks, “What if Dean doesn’t stay?”

Both women tip their heads at the off-topic question, but recover quickly. 

“Why does it matter if you’re not willing to try?” Ana Jo asks.

Castiel nods slowly, deciding that the next day, he’ll give it a try.

* * *

_Give it a try,_ for Castiel, simply means shutting off the voice in his head that tells him there’s no way Dean would be interested in him. 

Not that that’s simple.

Through their infinite mercy and kindness, Ana Jo and Charlie gave him advice. They pulled an outfit together, demanded that he get up extra early to shower and do his hair, and gave him some pointers on how to flirt. 

Things don’t go according to plan.

Matthew is cranky, having woken several times in the night. Even when he managed to settle down, he wasn’t really _settled_ , shifting and whimpering in his sleep enough to keep Castiel awake. Between that and his anxiety about flirting with Dean, he figures he logged about two hours of shuteye, if that. He doesn’t take the shower that he was supposed to, so his hair doesn’t cooperate as a result. He has to change his shirt because Matthew spit up on it, and he doesn’t see the rice cereal on his dark, too-tight jeans until he gets to work. Dean greets him, as usual, and when Castiel offers him what he thinks is a flirty smile, Dean looks at him in concentration, then points out the spot of egg yolk on his face from the egg and cheese sandwich he scarfed down before they left the house. 

There is _every reason_ for Dean not to be interested in him. 

By 7:00 a.m., he’s thrown in the towel.

Half an hour later, Ana Jo strolls in. “Hey, Dean,” she calls as she pumps her coffee from the carafe.

“Hey, Ana,” Dean grins, offering a wave as he exchanges the old magazines for the new issues. 

She walks up to the counter, a gleam in her eye, but stops short. “What happened?” she mouths to Castiel, pointing to...well, all of him.

He waves her off, not making eye contact as she pays for her drink. She sighs, whispers “We’re gonna talk later, but _do not_ give up,” and strides out of the store. He’s grateful she at least knows when to leave him alone.

Dean does not.

“What’s up, cloudy?” he asks after the morning rush has subsided. 

“Nothing.”

“You’re lookin’ a little Eeyore today.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. I mean, you _do_ look _fine_ , I just mean—”

“I need to go out back. You all set up here?”

Dean nods, so he leaves him at the counter and sulks in the back room for the better part of an hour as he straightens every piece of stock they have back there. When the guilt gets to him, he steps out to the front. Dean is typing furiously into his phone, but stops and fumbles it in an attempt to stick it in his pocket. 

“Uh, hey, sorry, I—”

Despite the shitty day so far, he smiles gently. “I don’t care about you using your phone, Dean.”

“No, no, I know, just...everything okay?”

“Fine. I just came to check on things, see if you needed me.”

“Things are...you know, fine.”

“Okay. Good. I’m going to, um, take advantage of the lull and get ahead on some orders.” _And hide some more._

“Oh, yeah, okay. I can help if you want.”

“That’s okay. It won’t take long. I’ll be back out here for lunch to help you out.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He tries to flirt one more time, because he has very little pride left. “Be good,” he jokes, knowing as soon as it comes out of his mouth that it sounds stupid and probably insulting, too. The sexy smirk he wanted to add becomes a grimace before he turns tail and practically runs out of there.

Once in the safety of the office he rarely uses, he messages his Trusty Rusties:

_Cas: I. Ant do this._

_Cas: *can’t_

_Cas: I look like shit, I feel like shit, I can’t flirt for shit. I’ve made a mess of this whole thing. When I tried to flirt, he looked at me like I had two heads, and I probably did, with my luck._

_Charlie: Oof_

_Ana Jo: DON'T GIVE UP, I TOLD YOU_

_Cas: I’M GIVING UP_

_Ana Jo: IT'S NOT EVEN NOON!_

_Cas: Who cares? It’s not like I’ll get better at this_

_Charlie: I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think_

He relates the details of his awful night and morning. Anna joins in the conversation. They fill her in on Dean’s revelation from the day before and Cas’ freak-out, then they continue to talk about the topic at hand. She doesn’t say anything until:

_Anna: Dude, just pretend you’ve been dating for like 3 years already, like you’re past all the awkwardness and doubt and into the belching and scratching your balls stage of your relationship._

Castiel pulls a face. 

_Cas: What?_

_Anna: Seriously_

_Cas: And how does that help?_

_Anna: Because then you won’t try so hard. You’re all worked up. If he already adores you, and you already know it and feel confident in it, you won’t feel the need to impress him, so you’ll relax. And if you relax, you’ll flirt—which, really, is just you being yourself cause you have no game. (Sorry, you’re just too genuine to have game, hon.) He’ll respond to it, and keep responding until it becomes painfully obvious even to YOU that he likes you._

_Charlie: Yes! And you need to BELIEVE IN YOURSELF. You are a sexy fatherfucker who’s got a lot to offer._

_Cas: Fatherfucker?_

_Charlie: Well you’re gay, so you’re not fucking mothers_

Castiel rolls his eyes, but he does feel slightly better talking to his friends.

_Ana Jo: Boy, you may be renting a 1 BR cottage, but you have your own place. You may work ridiculous hours and make less than you’d like, but you’re an entrepreneur. You may not see it, but you are a HOT PIECE OF ASS AND YOU SHOULD OWN IT. Your eyes?_

_Charlie: Sex hair?_

_Anna: Sinful mouth?_

_Ana Jo: That tight ass and the thick thighs to match?_

_Anna: Shall we go on?_

He laughs as he responds:

_Cas: Please do_

Rows of laughing emojis flood the screen. He leans back in his chair and shakes his head, grinning. He’s not totally buying what they’re selling, but he’s considering it.

_Ana Jo: Get your groove on, you dramatic bitch XOXO_

Lunchtime comes, and with it Jack, so Castiel doesn’t have much time to worry about what new lows of mortification he may still reach with Dean today. Not quite ready to be elbow-to-elbow, he uses Jack as a buffer between them. Dean seems to be giving him a wide berth, too, so Jack isn’t even necessary. Castiel should be happy about that, probably, but he feels awful instead.

Dean and Jack spend the afternoon working on inventory, so Castiel retreats to his office again. He’s sitting at his desk, trying to figure out how to look less idiotic in front of Dean tomorrow, when the man himself fills the doorway. 

“Are you upset that I’m bi?”

 _That’s_ the last thing he expected out of Dean’s mouth. “Of course not. Why—”

“Because you're not acting like yourself today, and that’s the only thing that’s changed between us in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Dean, for heaven’s sake, no. I’m gay. My brother is pan. Why would I be upset if you’re bi?”

“Because some people don’t believe being bi is a thing, and there’s, you know, bi erasure, and—”

“No. No, that’s not it at all, I swear. I’m sorry.” He sinks his face into his hands, then stretches the skin as he slowly slides his fingers into his hair and massages his scalp. His eyes drop closed. “It’s not you. I’m just a mess today.”

“What happened?”

 _I got my hopes up, that’s what happened._ “Just a rough night. Matthew didn’t sleep well.”

“Aww, that sucks. How come? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Teeth, growth spurt, who knows...babies are just cranky sometimes.”

A warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Castiel opens his eyes. Dean smiles softly. “You look beat.”

“Yeah, well, I feel beat, too.” _In lots of ways_ , he doesn’t add. Still, Dean’s warmth, both physical and emotional, helps the tension in his head start to dissipate.

“Anything I can do?”

“No, not really. You’re doing plenty.” 

“It’s not like helping you’s a hardship, you know.” He squeezes his shoulder. “We’re okay, though?”

“Yes. Sorry about being...well, me.”

“Don’t ever apologize for that.” He releases Castiel’s shoulder with a final squeeze. “Gotta pick up Matt. I’ll see you later, okay?”

* * *

_Dean 5:45pm: Come to my place to get Matt._

Castiel frowns, then shrugs. He’s been bringing him back to Castiel’s, but maybe he had some things to do at home. Fifteen minutes later, he closes the store and, thanks to Jack, doesn’t have anything to do after closing except the cashup. They talk briefly about Castiel taking Jack out for his upcoming birthday, then he heads to Dean’s. 

The air smells absolutely heavenly.

“Hey!” Dean shouts from the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready soon. Go up and take a shower. I left clothes in the bathroom for you.”

The offer is too damn tempting, so after greeting Matthew he does just that, relishing the hot shower and comfortable clothes (that are Dean’s, not his, but he won’t complain). When he’s finished, he trots downstairs and smiles at Dean, who’s making UFO noises as he feeds Matthew a bite of sweet potatoes, one of his new foods. He’s wearing a gray t-shirt, fitted navy blue sweatpants, and _pichous_ —knitted slippers that Mrs. Beliveau makes and sells at the store. 

“Grab a seat,” Dean directs him as he spoons one more bite into Matthew’s mouth. “Beer’s right there, and the sub rolls are—” The timer dings. “Ready,” he grins. 

Dean serves delicious sausage and pepper subs, along with fries and coleslaw. “I hoped, given those pajama pants you have at home, that you liked _actual_ sausages, too, not just the metaphorical ones.” 

“Oh my God,” Castiel snorts, planting his face in his palm. 

“Listen, I like metaphorical sausage too! I’m not judging!”

Castiel throws his head back in laughter, already feeling the day melt away. 

Matthew laughs, too, then dumps all his toys onto the floor. 

They eat and retrieve the toys (only for him to toss them again), carrying on a lighter conversation than they’ve had all day. After supper, they play with Matthew for a while, delighting in his antics as he rolls over, squeals, and attempts to get to his hands and knees. 

Once Matthew goes to bed (at Dean’s; neither he nor Dean talked about them staying but it seemed understood), they settle in to watch a movie. Dean sinks a bowl of popcorn between them, and as they sit in the dark, their hands dipping into it at the same time, a shiver of anxiety races through Castiel. This would be an ideal time to flirt, wouldn’t it? But if he’s wrong, it’s going to be very awkward to backtrack. There’s nowhere to hide. He’s not even at his own house, and Matthew is sleeping.

 _Pretend you’ve been dating for like 3 years already_ jumps into his mind. What would he do if they were completely comfortable with each other and he wanted to get a reaction from him? What did he do with Zee? Castiel twists his mouth into a frown. As much as he loved him, or believed he did, he’s probably not the best example. He never felt quite like himself with him. What would he do with his friends? Maybe they’re different altogether, but he always felt like a relationship should be a friendship, only more intense, and with sex if both parties wanted it. So, in this situation, with his friends he would…

Castiel steals the bowl away from Dean just as he’s about to dip his hand in.

Dean’s brows pinch together. “What are you doing?”

“Mine.”

“It’s not just yours.”

“It is now. I called it.”

“You...you _called_ it? What are you, twelve?”

Castiel shrugs as Dean stares at him. He’s starting to feel foolish, but he started something and he can’t very well give in now—that’ll make him feel even more foolish. He turns back to the movie, flicking a piece of popcorn into his mouth for maximum aggravation effect. 

“Gimme that,” Dean says a moment later, diving across his lap for the bowl.

“Nope,” he answers, holding it just out of his reach.

“Cas, you little shit,” he growls as he climbs fully into his lap, grabbing for the metal bowl. Castiel snickers as he twists his body around to keep Dean away from the prize. Dean stands up to get a better angle, so Castiel pulls the bowl down and tucks it under him, turning his back to Dean as he shields the bowl from his grasp. In turn, Dean pulls at his arms, but having an older brother merely strengthened him for this sort of fight. 

What he doesn’t expect is Dean wrapping his arms around him and rolling them across the couch. His brain not catching up with the action, he keeps a tight grip on the bowl. Popcorn cascades around them until the bowl falls to the floor, bouncing against the coffee table before landing with a soft _thud_ onto the area rug.

They separate and sit up, surveying the mess around them. 

When Castiel glances at Dean and sees two kernels in his always-perfect hair, he snorts. Dean raises his brows and folds his arms, Castiel presses his lips together until they sting, and then they both burst into laughter, carrying on until Castiel’s stomach hurts. “Sorry,” he says once he catches his breath. 

“No, you’re not, you friggin’ brat,” Dean smiles, and Castiel can’t deny it—he’s not sorry, not when it led to all that. He helps Castiel stand, and then—to Castiel’s utter surprise—pulls him into a soft, cuddly hug. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he murmurs. 

“Thanks to you,” he responds sincerely. “I know you’d do what you did for anyone having a bad day, but still, I really appreciate everything you—” A piece of popcorn crunches under his foot. “Um, I should probably clean this up now.”

“Leave it.”

“Gross, Dean.”

Dean chuckles softly as they part. “Sorry, I forgot you’re Mr. Tidy. Lemme get a dustpan and I’ll help you.” 

They work quietly, neither of them paying attention to the movie that continues to play in the background. Once they’re finished, they sit on the couch to resume the movie, only for Castiel’s face to crack into a wide, noisy yawn. “Sorry, that was impolite,” he says, rubbing his face. 

“Don’t have to be polite with me, man.”

Castiel meets his gaze in the blue-black light from the television. There’s something about it that makes him warm and dizzy, something that pokes mercilessly at the feelings that are constantly pushing at the walls of his heart. He can’t look very long. He drops his eyes to his lap. “Still, I’m not being a good houseguest.”

“You’re not a houseguest. And you don’t have to be ‘good.’ You just have to be you. That’s good enough for me.”

Castiel bites his lip as he forces himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “Thanks. I, uh, suppose I should go to bed. I didn’t get much sleep, and I have a very long day tomorrow.”

Dean decides to turn in, too, so they walk upstairs together, then split to go to their separate rooms. As Castiel reaches his bedroom door, Dean calls, “You were wrong, you know.”

Castiel turns. “About?”

“Me.”

“How?”

There’s a short pause before he says, “I wouldn’t do all this for just anybody.”

Castiel stares at him, dumbstruck, as Dean raises his hand in a little wave before disappearing into his room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all need ego-boosting friends like Ana Jo, Charlie, and Anna. ❤️
> 
> Seems like the tension between our guys is ramping up. 😏


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel thinks he might be getting better at this flirting thing.

On Friday, he pretended that they’d been dating forever, and so he didn’t get self-conscious when Dean teased him about his orange boxer briefs peeking out from his jeans. Instead, he said that orange was his lucky color, and that he wore orange underwear to summon the luck to where he was hoping to get it. That led to innuendos about getting lucky all day, as well as discussions about underwear, which Anna joined in on when she came in to get her veggie straws (thankfully, she liked the new ones he’d had to order, too). She teased that men had boring underwear and they should try the women’s stuff if they wanted to have a good time. Castiel said that as long as he could get them in orange, he’d be game “since it’s for a good time and all,” and though he was kidding, he didn’t miss the flush all over Dean’s face.

On Saturday, he pretended, and so he drank a little more than usual at Sam’s birthday party, knowing he’s a goofy-ass drunk who can be talked into doing just about anything. Dean had laughed his ass off at him when Gabriel got him to do some sort of “Drunk History” bit, then again when Charlie got him to duet “Bad Romance” with her, complete with hamburger buns tied to their chests like bras that seemed like a good idea at the time. Dean had yelled for an encore, so of course Castiel obliged him, singing The Pointer Sisters’ version of “Slow Hand” while he acted it out in dramatic fashion. 

On Sunday, he regretted Saturday, especially when Dean sent him texts and videos about it _all day long._

But on Monday, Dean greeted him with “Hey sunshine” and a huge smile to match, and he looked even nicer than usual. So Castiel pretended they were already a thing and told him so. 

Clearly pleased, Dean said, “I thought you didn’t like my designer clothes.”

“No, I said they’re way too upscale for my dumpy store. But you always look great.”

They spent the day swapping compliments and stealing glances at each other—which Castiel knows because whenever he did it, Dean was already looking at him.

Today is a very wet day, so foot traffic is exceptionally slow and the construction crew is gone. The mood in the store is mellow, and it’s only the two of them working all day. 

Dean punches up some music, as he often does now. It does seem to contribute to the store’s overall atmosphere. “Rainy day mix,” he says, holding up his phone, which he has connected to a Bluetooth speaker he brought in.

There are things to do (there always are), but mostly, Castiel just feels like hanging close to Dean, so he starts a deep clean of the kitchen. Dean, filling the candy and gum, dusts off his ass, washes his hands, and joins him.

Dean starts bobbing his head to the beat of a song that’s heavy with acoustic guitar and harmonica. His hips join in the beat, and Castiel can’t help but grin at his ease. He wonders how much of his life has been spent without this ease, without this simple joy. Dean catches him looking. “Mmm, it’s always better when we’re together,” he sings, scrubbing at the grates of the grill top. 

“Yes, it is.” Castiel smiles widely, swaying to the music himself now and syncing his own scrubbing to Dean’s. He gets close enough to Dean to bump him playfully with his hip, and when Dean bumps him back, brushing his shoulder against him for good measure, Castiel’s heart nearly floats away. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Dean asks a couple of songs later.

“Sure.”

“What happened with you and that Zee guy?”

Castiel tsks as he scrubs at the counters. “Way to ruin a perfectly good rainy day.” 

“Sorry, I—”

“I’m kidding, Dean.” The bell rings, signaling a customer. The guy is in and out quickly, and Castiel resumes his spot near Dean, rag in hand. “Um, well, it’s not that much of a story. Zee was a developer who came into town to build one of these massive hotels right along our coast. I protested it. Went to city council meetings, argued with his people, and hell, even argued with him. Damn near took his head off when I first met him.”

“Do you always start a relationship by yelling at someone?” Dean asks, then clears his throat and turns back to his work quickly.

“I try not to make a habit of it, but he pissed me off.”

Dean huffs softly. “Kinda like me, huh?”

“No. Kind of. Yes. A lot. You pissed me off a lot.”

At the memory, they both chuckle. Castiel’s glad they can do that now.

“Anyway, he finally decided to build it the next town over, just over the town line, which I still didn’t love but was better than here. But he stuck around Lupine Cove, rented a place here and came to see me nearly every day for this or that, until he asked me out. Liked my ‘fire,’ he said. We were together for a year, even lived together for a bit, and then came the time when he had to go develop things in other places. He was going to Rio.”

“Rio? Nice.”

“So everyone says.”

“He didn’t ask you to go with him?”

“No.”

Dean scoffs. “What an idiot.”

Warmth blooms under Castiel’s skin. “To be fair, I didn’t ask to go, either.”

“Still. He should’ve asked.”

“Again, to be fair...even if he’d asked, I don’t think I would’ve said yes.”

“Oh.” Dean straightens, facing Castiel fully. “You didn’t want to go?”

“I had a business here. Family. Friends. My life was here.”

“Yeah. That’s a pretty big deal. But that wasn’t the question.”

Castiel sighs. “No, I didn’t want to go.”

“Thought you wanted to get out of here.”

“I thought so, too,” he admits. “And I did, just...maybe not that permanently, or maybe not...” He trails off, leaving _with him_ unsaid.

“He could’ve stayed with you. Done what he had to do in Rio and come back.”

“I don’t think it would’ve mattered in the end.”

Dean nods as he eyes him steadily. “Love wasn’t enough?”

“No,” he answers quietly. “No, it wasn’t. Not the love we had, anyway. We were very different, which is partly why I liked him, I’m sure, but...I think eventually he would’ve seen the error of his ways, and either he would’ve left if he’d stayed or I would’ve been stuck in Rio if I followed him. Or crawling home to Mom and Dad. It was bad enough that I had been living with them before we started dating. I went to live with Gabe afterward. You can imagine how _that_ was.”

“Did what you had to do, man. But why do you assume that he would’ve ‘seen the error of his ways’? I mean, you’re awesome. How could anyone think it would be a mistake to be with you?”

“I’m not exciting, Dean. I’m not a ‘travel to Rio, drink wine ‘til sunrise’ kind of guy. I don’t have lots of money, or cars, or a great personality, or even sex appeal to get me through.”

Dean snorts. 

“I’m the kind of realist that everyone thinks is a pessimist. I have a temper, I jump to conclusions, my life is boring and predictable. People only want that sort of guy for so long.”

“I call bullshit,” Dean asserts, pointing a finger at him. “Maybe some people only want that kind of guy for so long, but to others, that kind of guy is really appealing.”

Now Cas snorts. “Yeeeaah.” He sweeps his arm behind him. “Look at the line of broken hearts I’ve left behind.” He sweeps his other arm on his opposite side. “Look at the line of men just waiting to be next.”

Dean regards him with warm eyes and a warmer smile, his gaze holding Castiel’s steadily until Castiel grows uncomfortable with his own joke. He shifts on his feet, turning his eyes to the floor. Dean steps into his space, placing a hand on his shoulder and ducking until their eyes meet again. 

“Remember when you were thinking about adopting Matt? I told you that you had a lot to offer, and you didn’t believe me. I told you to try to understand things through our eyes, the people who care about you, remember?”

Castiel nods, transfixed.

“Maybe believe us when we say you have a lot to offer as a partner, too, huh?”

The softness in Dean’s voice is nearly unbearable. It sneaks under his defenses, penetrating his heart. All the depictions of Cupid’s instrument being an arrow are wrong, Castiel is convinced. It’s not an arrow. It’s a tender voice, a fond smile, a deep gaze, a soft touch. “You think so?” he whispers.

Dean nods.

Castiel licks his lips, then swallows. Dean does the same, wobbling slightly toward him as he does. His hand tightens on Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel—

“...not putting her in lingerie, hon, no matter how much you ask.”

“She just wants to be feminine under her bulletproof vest! Come on! Your readers will love it!”

The spell is broken as Castiel comes back to his senses and his surroundings—the bell on the door, the phone ringing, Gabe and Sam entering (and arguing), _the customer at the register, shit_. They break apart quickly and pass each other, Dean reaching for the phone and Castiel heading to the register.

“You _had_ to come in _right this minute_ ,” the customer—Debbie, the realtor—gripes at Gabriel and Sam. “It was getting _good_!”

“What’d we miss?” Gabriel asks. 

“Nothing,” Castiel mutters as he rings up Debbie’s items.

“They were finally about to—”

“$16.51!”

Debbie, Gabriel, and Sam all turn to him—surprised, no doubt, by the volume of his announcement. “Um, that’ll be $16.51,” he repeats, feeling his face turn shades of red that probably haven't been named yet. 

Debbie smiles, Gabe raises his brows in glee, and Sam wanders over to the kitchen area. “Sorry about the delay in helping you,” he mumbles to Debbie.

“Oh, no problem at all.” Her grin widening, she leans in confidentially. “I’m just sorry you two got interrupted,” she whispers. “Lots of us have been waiting for you to finally give in.”

“Give in…?”

“You’re awfully cunnin’ with that confused look on your face, but you’re not foolin’ anyone. You two have more sparks flyin’ between you than a bonfire upta camp.”

“Have a nice day, Debbie,” Castiel mutters, holding her bags out to her. She lets out a tinkling laugh as she takes them and goes, leaving him face-to-face with his brother.

“Sooooo…”

“ _Nothing,_ shut _up_ ,” Castiel demands through gritted teeth. He side-eyes the kitchen to see Sam talking to Dean, ordering lunch. He turns back to Gabriel. “What are you getting? I’ll ring you up.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m not here for your amusement. Why don’t you take a page from your boyfriend’s book and not harass your brother?”

Gabriel snickers quietly and leans toward him. “Buddy, if you think Sammy isn’t grilling Dean right now, you’re blind.”

Castiel flicks his eyes toward the kitchen again. Sam is still talking to his brother...rather intensely, he notices now, though he can’t hear what he’s saying. He does hear Dean say “Stop yakking at me, I got shit to do if you want this order” when he catches Castiel looking their way. 

The phone rings, relieving Castiel of his brother’s company. It’s the woman Castiel called for an interview; she can come by today if it’s convenient. He tells her to come at 2:00. That settled, he rings up two more customers, then Gabe and Sam, before answering the phone again and getting swept into the lunch rush.

Alex comes in precisely at 2:00, just when Castiel and Dean are finishing their lunch (and _not_ talking about whatever the hell happened between them earlier). They conduct the interview right behind the counter so that Dean can be involved in the interview, too, which he seems to appreciate if his big smile is anything to go by. Alex is bright, available when he’ll need her, and attending school nearby, so she’ll continue to be available once tourist season winds down. She’d come recommended by Ana Jo, who knows her from her mentoring of the nursing students, and between her judgment and Dean’s enthusiasm for her, he decides she’ll be a good fit. He hires her, she accepts, and he schedules her to start this weekend.

“Everything’s coming together for you, huh?” Dean asks once she’s gone. “Got someone starting, Matthew’s happy at daycare with Katie, his adoption stuff is going through the system, you’re gettin’ your ice cream stand…” Dean grins, chucking him lightly on the chin. 

The ice cream stand had truly been a surprise. Bobby approached him the other day and told him that they had more money than they’d expected at that point, so if he wanted the dream list, he could have it. Castiel could hardly believe it. 

“Strangely enough, I think it is,” Castiel smiles. 

Dean smiles back, licking his lips and sucking his lower one into his mouth. He begins to speak, stops, stares, and finally says, “You ever think of taking the day off? Or hell, a whole weekend? Just for you?” 

_An entire weekend off. What a concept._ It’s been a while since he’s had a day off (not counting that time he was sick), and even longer since he had a weekend off. And hell, he doesn’t want to think about how long it’s been since he had an entire _week_ off. Much too long. He knows he’ll have to change that for Matthew. How, he’s not sure. “I think about it plenty,” he jokes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I mean, I know I should, I just...you know.”

“What if...once Alex has her feet under her, what if I work a weekend day with her, and Jack and Patience work the other weekend day? That way, you could take two days off. In a row, not months apart.”

Castiel rolls his eyes at the gentle jab. “That...would be heavenly, honestly.”

“Hell yeah it would.” Dean cups his elbow as he sweeps his hand across the ceiling, like he’s showing Castiel a bright, vast sky. “Picture it: You could revisit a hobby you forgot about. You could hike in the mountains. Hell, you could go somewhere far away from here. That offer about going to any of our properties is still open. Or hey, you could just binge TV shows and eat junk food, whatever. And if you wanted, you could maybe even get someone to watch Matt for the night and...wait for it... _sleep in.”_

Laughing brightly, Castiel admits, “Now _that_ is a dream come true.” 

“Do it.”

“I don’t know…”

“Yeah, you do.”

Castiel laughs again. He _does_ know. “Well, my parents _have_ been begging to have him overnight…”

“Yes!”

“But I should spend time with him, though, if I have—”

“So spend the morning with him, drop him off at Gramma and Grampa's after his nap, then do something for yourself. Maybe go dancing.” He slips an arm around Castiel’s waist, his fingers rounding over his hip, and moves Castiel’s arm up and down in a sort of _Saturday Night Fever_ tribute, bumping his hip as they move together side-by-side. 

“I’m a terrible dancer, and disco is no longer in vogue,” Castiel grins. He keeps the grin on his face even when Dean releases him, though he’s disappointed.

“You could sing. Do some karaoke—”

“No. I sing to Matthew, that’s it.”

“And your friends. While drunk.”

“Shut your face.”

They both burst into laughter, knowing Castiel learned that line from Dean. 

“Seriously, though, what would you do?” Dean asks once they’ve calmed.

“You know, I don’t know.”

“But you’d like to find out, right?”

Gabe, his parents, his friends...even some of his _customers_ have said he should take some time off. He’ll be no good to Matthew if he doesn’t learn how to balance things. And if he ever hopes to have a family life, a personal life, a love life…

“Yes,” he mumbles, closing his eyes against the onslaught of _happy_ he knows he’s about to get from Dean.

“Yes!” he shouts. “Don’t worry about a thing. I got you.”

 _You sure do_ , he thinks as he opens his eyes to Dean’s earnest, joyful face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debbie the realtor is all of us. 😂 Damn brothers.
> 
> The song they’re grooving to is “Better Together” by Jack Johnson.


	16. Chapter 16

A week and a half after they discussed it, Castiel has the weekend off. 

The timing is fantastic. Business will pick up quite a bit at the end of the month, when Memorial Day comes and the tourists begin their annual invasion, but for now things are still quiet. Alex is trained and is doing well, and Patience and Jack’s schedules have loosened up now that their classes are over. The weather is getting better—the sun is warm even if the air is still cool, so in many ways it’s the ideal time to be outside. There’s so much to do, so many opportunities in front of him. 

And yet, despite all of this, he’s bored stiff by five o’clock. 

He and Matthew spent the morning and part of the afternoon playing in the sand and walking the shore during ebb tide. Being by the ocean has always calmed Castiel, always given him a sense of peace. It’s said to have healing properties, even, and though he can’t attest to it medically, he certainly feels it every time he goes. He wonders if this, too, is why he never left Lupine Cove, for either far-flung places or simply to go further inland, where living is cheaper. He’s glad for it now. He wants Matthew to know that peace.

At home, while Matthew napped, Castiel tried to watch a movie, but his mind kept drifting to Dean. He told his Trusty Rusties what happened last week at the store, and they assured him that Dean was _definitely_ interested and to keep up whatever he was doing (which was nothing, really, but whatever). And though nothing quite as intense has happened since, he has noticed an uptick in small touches, stolen glances, and compliments, which Castiel has certainly returned. 

He misses him.

Alone now that he dropped Matthew at his mom and dad’s house half an hour ago, Castiel picks up his phone and goes to his text messages, thumbing through long conversations with Dean before he types:

_Cas 5:02pm: Maybe this is why I never take a day off._

_Dean 5:02pm: Bored already?_

_Cas 5:03pm: Yes. I should do chores but you told me I couldn’t._

_Dean 5:03pm: And I stand by that._

_Cas 5:03pm: So what am I supposed to do?_

_Dean 5:04pm: Anything you want._

_Cas 5:04pm: Not helpful. I can’t think of anything but chores._

Castiel thinks that’s the end of the conversation until Dean’s next message:

_Dean 5:08pm: What would you say to going out for dinner?_

He stares at the screen. Dinner? Like a date, or just as friends? Or is he suggesting he go to dinner as simply an activity he could do on his own, not as something Dean wants to do with him? It’s confusing. 

_Cas 5:10pm: Sounds great_

_Dean: 5:10pm: Great! I’ll pick you up? 6:45?_

That answers one question, at least.

_Cas 5:10pm: Sounds good, see you then_

Castiel sits back, thoughts of _It’s a date/It’s not a date_ bouncing back and forth in his brain like a ping-pong ball. When he looks at the time again, it’s 5:30. “Fuck,” he mutters, scurrying toward the bathroom. 

He takes a long shower, thoroughly enjoying this aspect of not having Matthew home. Jerking off crosses his mind, but he’s not sure he could even get it up with how nervous he is right now. Instead, he takes the extra time to groom himself thoroughly both in and out of the shower, paying attention to the little things he usually ignores. He manages not to nick himself shaving, which is a blessing when he slathers aftershave on his face. Scrunching pomade in his hair, he frowns in the mirror at the couple of flecks of gray he notices in his sideburns, a reminder that time is marching on and he’s falling behind, out of step and out of tune. He sighs. “No time for pity parties,” he says to his reflection. Thinking of Dean, he adds, “And maybe you’ll catch up yet.” 

Fretting in front of his sparse closet, he pulls out the outfit that Charlie and Ana Jo had chosen for him to wear the day he was supposed to flirt (and it all went to hell). He buttons up his shirt, then unbuttons it and drapes it over the arm of the couch, afraid that his deodorant will fail him. He walks around the house shirtless, restlessly tidying up (tidying up doesn’t count as chores) so he doesn’t have to sit with his thoughts. 

Despite checking the time obsessively, he still manages to be caught off-guard when there’s a knock on the door. “Shit,” he grumbles, but because he doesn’t want Dean to stand outside, he calls “Come on in” as he retrieves his shirt from the couch. 

“Heya—hey,” Dean says, his eyes zeroing in on Castiel’s chest before lifting to meet his eyes. “Don’t think the restaurant is quite that casual,” he jokes.

Dean is dressed in slim, charcoal pants and a fitted white shirt with a subtle micro-dot pattern, his hair combed slightly flatter but still as stylish as always. _God, he’s gorgeous._ He clears his throat as his brain veers back on track. “I know, I know,” Castiel responds, trying to keep his own demeanor light even as the butterflies in his belly kick up a vigorous clog dance. “I was cleaning.”

“Of course you were.” 

Dean smiles, a small, indulgent thing that doesn’t make buttoning his shirt any easier. He fumbles with the second-to-top one until he decides to leave it open. He swears he sees Dean’s throat bob when he raises his head, but figures it’s a trick of his eyes when he sees no other tells of nervousness, his “Ready to go?” strong and much steadier than Castiel feels.

* * *

“My dad was _pissed_ ,” Dean laughs, and Castiel laughs too at the story of Dean taking his father’s beloved car for a joyride at ten years old. 

All of dinner has been like this, after some initial unease that was so unlike them. The table is tiny and they’re tall men, so of course their feet tangled together under it, and that, along with Castiel nearly setting his sleeve on fire when he knocked the votive out of its vessel trying to get to the herbed oil for the bread, was enough to relax them and remind Castiel that they didn’t have to be nervous, that they already knew and liked each other. 

_Like each other,_ Castiel thinks now as he watches Dean, resting his chin in his hand. _We like each other._ He’s nearly convinced of it now, though a verbal confirmation would do wonders for his confidence. Just as he feels his anxiety building again, he remembers Anna’s advice and pretends he’s already secure in the fact of Dean’s feelings. He smiles at Dean as he realizes that Dean stopped talking and is meeting his gaze. 

They chat idly through dessert, pauses and heavy looks as frequent as words in their conversation. Dean’s feet are carrying their own conversation with his, sometimes trapping his feet playfully, other times rubbing slowly against them. If they were a couple at their home, doing this under the dinner table barefoot, Castiel is certain that it would drive him into Dean’s arms...and then, very likely, into the bedroom. 

“What are you doing with the rest of your night?” Dean asks as they linger over coffee.

Testing the waters, Castiel replies, “I don’t know, what are we doing?”

Dean’s eyes shine in that way they always do when he’s particularly pleased. “It’s your weekend off, so whatever you want.”

Castiel snorts. “I was cleaning before you came over, and if you hadn’t offered dinner that’s probably what I would’ve done with my entire night. I’m not exactly a reliable decider of my own fun.” As Dean laughs, Castiel’s confidence wanes. Maybe—most definitely—Dean has better things to do. Fun things to do with fun people. 

“Hey,” Dean says. He nudges Castiel’s feet. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just thinking that I sure know how to have fun. Woohoo.” Castiel throws his hands in the air lightly, mockingly. “I shouldn’t keep you from the rest of your night. I’ll just pay—”

“Hey,” Dean says again, tugging Castiel’s foot between his. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be and no one else I’d rather be with.”

Castiel swallows, the hand not clutching his cup digging crescents into his thigh. “Me too,” he whispers.

“Nice night,” Dean murmurs. “You wanna come back to the house, have a drink, soak in the hot tub? Maybe give me a chance to beat you at Scrabble?”

“Unlikely,” Castiel scoffs playfully, his nerves abating minutely, “but yes, that would be great.”

After arguing over the check (eventually splitting it), driving to Dean’s, changing into swim trunks, and pouring whiskey, they slip into the welcome heat of the bubbling water. Castiel sighs heavily, letting the jets at his back ease the tension in his muscles. They sit and drink, appreciating the stars overhead. There’s a respectable space between them, though their legs bump from time to time. Neither seems to mind, and eventually, Dean doesn’t move his leg back. 

Their legs stay pressed together until Dean gets them a refill and brings out Bananagrams. “No board to deal with,” he explains. They drape themselves over the edge of the tub, making crosswords with plastic tiles on the deck. Dean loses. “Have to say, it’s more fun to lose while drinking in a hot tub,” he jokes. 

They play a few more rounds, and Dean even wins one. After that, he wants to “quit while the quittin’s good,” so they pick up the game and wrap their waists in their towels, then head inside. The chill of the evening sets Castiel’s flesh to goosebumps, and it seems to prickle Dean’s, too, he can’t help but notice as his eyes skate over Dean’s back. They take showers, then Castiel slips back into his clothes, not wanting to presume that he’s staying. He meets Dean downstairs, who’s dressed in loose jeans and a comfortable t-shirt. They’re not the button-down and nice pants he was wearing earlier, but they’re not his home-for-the-night loungewear either. Castiel isn’t sure what to make of it.

Dean is drinking ice water now, and he hands the same to Castiel. The glass is sweating, much like Castiel himself has been all evening. “Dean, you should have a coaster for that,” he says, wincing at the thought of the ring that’s going to make on the coffee table in the rented home.

“Yes, dear.” He rolls his eyes as he leans forward to grab one out of the stack. “You hungry?”

Since eating would give his fidgeting hands something to do, he says, “Sure. Nothing heavy, though.”

“You want one of those monstrosities you like to eat? Fluff-n-stuffs?”

“ _Fluffernutters_ are not _monstrosities_. They are delicious. And yes, I do.”

Dean gathers the drinks they just set down and heads into the kitchen. Castiel follows, leaning against the island. 

“You Mainers are weird,” he teases, not for the first time. “Sandwiches made with peanut butter and marshmallow, subs you named after people from Italy, lobster ice cream, pies that aren’t even pies—”

“Whoopie pies are amazing.”

“True, but they’re more cake than pie, gotta admit.”

“I’ll give you that. And lobster ice cream is served by maybe two places in Bar Harbor and only tourists buy it because real Mainers know it’s an abomination.”

“Know what’s an abomination? No In-N-Out Burger anywhere, and no decent Mexican—”

“Do you realize how far from Mexico we are?”

“Too damn far.”

“Make my sandwich.”

He does so, even as he prattles on. “What I wouldn’t give to visit a good taquería. Or—ooh! Some Korean barbeque.”

Castiel smiles softly, even as his spirit droops. “You miss home.”

Dean turns his attention from his task to Castiel. He looks surprised. “California? Nah. I just like to eat.” He winks, then grins as he takes a bite of Castiel’s sandwich.

“You’re trying one, finally?” Castiel manages, surprised he can speak at all when his pulse is racing as much as it is from just a wink.

“Sure. Gotta eat like a native.” He moans. “Holy shit, I was wrong. This is _awesome._ ”

Oh, how Castiel would love to hear that moan again. In different circumstances.

They trade the sandwich back and forth, Castiel complaining every time Dean eats it wrong and Dean eating it wrong anyway. (Who bites through the middle of a whole sandwich, leaving the sides and crusts dangling?) When they’re finished, Castiel takes their plate and glasses to the dishwasher, then begins loading the dishes from the sink into it, giving his nervous energy a place to go now that they’re not occupied. 

Dean “helps.”

“Stop, you’re terrible at this,” Castiel chastises him as Dean places a dish on the top rack. He moves it to the bottom. “That’s what those tines are for.”

“Is that right?” Dean asks. “Huh.” He places another plate on the top rack.

“Stop it or I’m not loading this.”

Dean moves the plate to the bottom rack. “You _shouldn’t_ be loading it. This is supposed to be a—um, a fun weekend for you.”

“Helping you is fun,” he shrugs. “You should have the plate facing toward the middle so the water jets get to it better.”

“It gets clean either way.”

“Yes, but this is more efficient. Better.”

“Gotcha.” He places a glass on the bottom. 

“Glasses go on top.”

“Okay.” He drops a wooden spoon into the utensil rack.

“Dean. We’ve been through this. You can’t wash that in the dishwasher.”

It seems that every time Dean puts something in the dishwasher, it’s the exact opposite of what Castiel wants, and he knows Dean knows how to load it. They’ve done it plenty of times. “What are you doing?”

“What? I forget!” he cries, though his smirk tells a different story.

Castiel shakes his head at him. He finishes loading without further “help” from Dean, then wipes up the counter, puts the peanut butter and fluff in the cabinet, sets the out-of-place spoon rest neatly by the stove, and straightens the napkins in the holder...only to find that Dean has undone everything behind him. 

“Why did you take the jars out again?”

“I wanna use ‘em tomorrow. Gonna make myself fluffernutters to bring for lunch.”

Castiel closes his eyes. It’s really none of his business; this is Dean’s place. But the napkins…“Why did you mess up the napkins?”

“I like ‘em messy.”

“ _Why_?”

“Easier to pick up.”

“Dean, honestly. If you can’t pick up a napkin when they’re neatly stacked in a holder, you need to work on your manual dexterity.” He straightens them again.

Dean unstraightens them.

Castiel straightens them.

Dean unstraightens them.

Castiel straightens them once more, then the spoon rest, which Dean has set cockeyed.

Dean opens the jars, sets the spoon rest at a seventy-five degree angle, and knocks all the napkins to the floor.

“Oh my God, you colossal pain in the ass,” Castiel whines, shoving Dean lightly. “Stop it, you little shit.”

“You stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Cleaning my house!”

“I’m just trying to help you!”

“I don’t want your help! I just want you!”

“Well, if you’d’ve just let me _finish,_ we’d be watching a movie or something by now!” He leans down to pick up the napkins.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Dean growls, grabbing him in a bear hug.

“Hey!” Castiel laughs as Dean drags him away from the mess in the kitchen. He fights against him, even though he knows it’s just a game now (and probably always was).

“Stop cleaning!”

“You can’t leave the jars open!”

“Yes, I can!”

“Just let me close them!”

“No!”

“You’ll get bugs!”

“Good!” Dean has managed to drag him into the living room. “They can nibble at our toes!”

“Dean!”

They tumble to the couch, laughing at the ridiculousness of the last several minutes. Castiel scoots back and struggles to get up, still insisting on closing the jars but really just baiting the man above him to wrestle. Dean obliges him, his body a hot weight against Castiel. He pins Castiel’s wrists above his head. Their breaths slow, laughter fading, until they’re left staring at each other in the dim light from the kitchen. 

“Cas,” Dean whispers. “Cas, do you want this as much as I do?”

Unable to breathe, he steals Dean’s breath for himself, breaking free from his grasp and tugging him into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like that was a date...I guess Dean really DOES like Cas. 😂


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have guessed, this chapter is NSFW. 😘

Kissing Dean is like standing on the shore, the sun in his face and the wind in his hair. It’s exhilarating, healing, all-consuming. Castiel has never felt so absorbed, so at one with anyone in his life. “Dean,” he rasps, no follow-up statement in mind. He simply had to say his name, had to taste the salty sweetness of it on his lips.

“Cas,” Dean answers, maybe because he has to, too. His fingers are in Castiel’s hair, alternately gripping and combing it. Castiel’s are free, which he takes full advantage of as he roams Dean’s back, neck, and head, drawing moans from deep in his throat. “Upstairs?”

“Yes.”

Dean pulls him from the couch, cradling his face and kissing him softly as soon as he’s steady on his feet. Taking his hand, Dean leads him to his bedroom. 

The room is bathed in moonlight, the curtains open to the starry night. Dean turns on a bedside lamp. “I wanna see you,” he explains. Raising the hand he’s still holding, he kisses Castiel’s knuckles, then rests his other hand on the button placket of Castiel’s shirt. “May I?”

Utterly overwhelmed, Castiel smiles and nods.

“Drove me crazy seeing you shirtless. Drove me just as crazy seeing you button this thing up.” He flicks each button out of its hole deftly with one hand. 

Seeing as he so clearly likes a challenge, Castiel seals their lips together, taking away Dean’s sight and concentration. He chuckles when Dean has to let go of his hand to finish unbuttoning his shirt, and again when he mutters “Damn you” as he fumbles with the last button. Castiel doubles down then, one hand gripping the nape of his neck while the other grabs a handful of ass and yanks Dean’s groin into his. 

“Not fair,” he whines, breaking the kiss as he finally releases the button. He gets his revenge as he slips the shirt off and slowly drags his fingers up Castiel’s arms, down his chest, around his ass, and back to his chest, where he thumbs his peaked nipples with torturous leisure, all while maintaining the sort of eye contact that would have Castiel coming in his pants if he were eighteen again. 

Castiel moans, every nerve on fire. He needs more. Tilting his head to the side (and breaking eye contact), he drags Dean’s face onto his neck. Dean gets the message, biting and sucking until Castiel involuntarily bucks against his cock. Dean hums his pleasure as he assaults the spot that drives Castiel mad; Castiel takes his ass in both hands and thrusts hard enough to throw them off-balance, forcing Dean’s arms around him. 

“Damn, Cas, baby, you are so fucking hot,” Dean gasps, nosing his earlobe.

“Bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel slides his eyes toward Dean’s. He raises his brows. 

“What can I say? I’m hot for my boss, sir.”

Chuckling affectionately, Castiel lightly shoves Dean to the bed. He leans down and pecks his lips, then backs away and unfastens his jeans, keeping his eyes on Dean both to seduce him and to make sure he actually wants this. He slides both jeans and orange boxer briefs down, revealing his hard, red cock.

“Fuck, you look gooood, baby,” Dean moans.

“You want this, babe?” The endearment feels foreign on his tongue, but not in his heart.

“You know I do.”

To be fair, Castiel was 99.9% sure, but it feels good to gain that 0.1%. “Lose the clothes.”

“You want me to fold them neatly, too?”

Castiel scowls at Dean, who’s grinning wickedly. Self-conscious now, his confidence has faltered a little at the joke. He folds his arms and looks away, trying to play it cool. “Just get undressed.”

“Hey.” He feels Dean’s warm, slightly sticky hand tug on his forearm. He follows until he’s on the bed, straddling Dean’s hips, his naked cock bumping against Dean’s clothed one. “Sorry. I’m stupid.” Dean plants a tender kiss under his ear. 

Castiel frowns. “No, you’re not. Don’t say that.”

Another kiss is pressed under Castiel’s ear. “’Kay.” He pauses, then whispers against Castiel’s skin, “You’re the only one I believe, you know.”

“Believe about what?” He cradles Dean’s head, not wanting to lose the tender contact.

“When you say I’m not stupid. Anyone else says it, I don’t believe ‘em, but you, I believe.”

Castiel sits back, taking Dean’s face in his hands. “You’re not stupid. Hear me?”

Dean nods.

“I’m just nervous, Dean. I don’t do well with jokes when I’m nervous. Sorry.”

“I’m nervous, too.” Dean wraps his arms around him tightly. “And sorry. Making light of stuff is kinda my go-to thing when I’m nervous.”

They smile at each other. Castiel, feeling more confident again, captures Dean’s lips once, twice, then more; his hips undulate in time to the smacking of their mouths. Castiel’s hands seek Dean’s nipples under his soft t-shirt. He rolls and pinches them, drawing out the sweetest sounds from the gorgeous man beneath him. 

His concentration slips when Dean cups his naked ass.

“Clothes _off_ ,” he urges, rolling away so Dean can accommodate his request.

Dean sits up on his knees and removes his clothes with the speed of a racehorse. And speaking of... “Jesus,” Castiel mumbles as he gets his first look at Dean’s cock. He’s never cared about size, but Anna’s obsession with it may have some merit. “You are…” He looks up at Dean, whose skin is flushed and eyes are bright with both lust and...something. “You’re beautiful,” he rasps, which isn’t where his own lust-addled brain had been going but feels much better. There will be time for lusty comments about his physical assets later, when they’ve been together for a while.

By Dean’s answering smile, his choice was the right one. “You too, Cas. God, you’re...so fucking beautiful.”

“Kiss me.”

Dean obliges his request once again, spreading over him and kissing him deeply, like he’s trying to reach his soul. 

He’s not sure how to tell him that he already has it.

Slow at first, their kisses and touches pick up both in speed and passion until Castiel sees the same desperation in Dean’s eyes that he feels in himself. The promise of full physical connection to complement their emotional connection becomes too much to delay any longer. “Dean,” Castiel whispers. “Are you clean?”

“I’m clean, yeah, I tested before I came to Maine and haven’t been with anyone since. You want…?”

“Yes. I’m clean, too.”

“Okay, yeah. Which one of us…?”

“Whichever. I don’t care, as long as it’s with you.”

Dean stares at him for a long moment before he smiles widely, whispering “Awesome” as he leans in to kiss him again. He pulls lube out of the nightstand drawer. “This would be good, though.” 

“Certainly.”

They smile at each other. 

Dean opens the lube, then flicks his eyes back and forth between their bodies. “Can I…?” He raises two fingers, gesturing toward Castiel.

In reply, Castiel pushes a pillow under himself, then throws Dean a smirk, his brow arching in a _well, get on with it_ sort of challenge. “Okay, boss, geez,” Dean chuckles, peppering kisses all over his face before he does, indeed, get on with it.

They’re playful for a while—Dean’s fingers circling his rim without penentrating, Castiel thrusting his hips chasing after them; Dean just grazing Castiel’s cock, Castiel swatting Dean’s hand away after taking over the job himself—until Dean finally breaches him with his fingers. Castiel sighs and lies back, watching Dean while he lazily strokes his cock. Dean, in turn, gazes at him, his eyes and mouth becoming soft and serious. Castiel reaches for Dean’s cock, smiling as the velvet skin passes smoothly through his fist and smiling wider as Dean’s eyes flutter closed, his mouth hanging open and the movement of his fingers becoming erratic in Castiel’s body.

“You like that?” Castiel asks after a minute.

The question snaps Dean out of his trance. His eyes pop open. “Like it _too_ much,” he grins, resuming his fingers’ thrusting and stretching. When he finds Castiel’s prostate, it’s Castiel’s eyes that flutter closed, his hands stilling as he enjoys a sensation he hasn’t felt at another’s hands in much too long. “You like that?” Dean asks in that teasing tone that always makes him flush in embarrassment and, more recently, affection.

“Fuck me,” he demands in a breathy whisper.

He hears a gulp and an equally breathy “Oh, fuck” from Dean. The fingers disappear. The anticipation has Castiel nearly salivating. To have Dean, finally...it’s the first of many times, he knows, and though they’ll probably have better sex the more they learn each other, there’s something about this time, right now, the culmination of months of want, that makes him shiver.

Cool, fresh lube on his skin is counteracted by the warmth of Dean’s cock. As it rests against him, unmoving, he opens his eyes. 

The soft, serious look is back. “You ready?”

“Yes.” He raises his hand and caresses Dean’s cheek. “Are you?”

For a moment, Dean simply stares at him, his mouth moving but no words coming out. Finally, he says, “Yeah. I’m ready.”

Castiel smiles, Dean smiles, and then Dean slowly presses into him.

The sensation is not foreign, but it has been a long time. Castiel closes his eyes as he adjusts, his breath puffing from his lungs in short, shallow bursts. Dean kisses his eyelids, his cheeks, his chin, moving forward inch by inch until they are fully joined, their bodies as close as they can be. Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean, who’s looking back at him with such careful attention it makes Castiel’s heart leap. 

Dean rests his head on the pillow next to Castiel’s head. He turns Castiel’s face to his and plants a gentle kiss onto his lips. Castiel returns it, then returns it again and again, his wet, puffy lips burning with overuse. He breathes with Dean, through Dean, using their lungs interchangeably. Rolling his hips, he looks into Dean’s glittering eyes. “Please,” he urges, moving one hand to Dean’s shoulder and gripping it tight. 

With a small nod, Dean plants himself on his left arm once more, tucking his right under Castiel’s ass. He rolls his hips once, then twice. Castiel moans, taking his own cock in hand as he pulls Dean in for a kiss, tilting his ass up to encourage Dean to move. Dean moves in him, hard and steady. Forehead to forehead, they stare at each other until their breaths are too rapid and the space between them is too hot. Dean shifts until he’s in the crook of Castiel’s neck, kissing it and muttering “baby” and other things he can’t understand. 

When Castiel comes, it’s sudden and harder than he’s come in a long, long time. Perhaps it’s simply the length of time since he’s been with anyone, but Castiel suspects it has more to do with Dean and the deep affection he feels for him, the affection he’s hesitated to label for fear that they would never get to this point. Smiling giddily, he tugs Dean into a kiss, urging him on with his hands on his ass until Dean, too, tumbles over the edge with a shout of his name. 

Castiel lies there with his eyes closed, Dean inside him in every way, until his breathing returns to normal. The stupid smile is still on his face when he blinks his eyes open. An odd look on Dean’s face disappears into a shit-eating grin. 

“Heya, Sleeping Beauty!” Dean cries, much too loud and exuberant for the moment. “Thought you were gonna fall asleep on me! Hang on a sec.” He looks down and withdraws from Castiel’s body. “Phew! That was fun! You good?”

Unsure what to say, Castiel simply nods, his lingering smile quickly falling. 

“Good! I’m gonna wash the goods ’fore the situation gets stickier. Not that I’m lookin’ to wash you off or somethin’, ’cause that was really fun, just, you know, good to be clean. You can appreciate that, right? Anyway, I’m gonna do that”—he points his thumbs toward his en suite—“and, uh, yeah, okay.” Dean turns tail and nearly runs to the bathroom. The door slams.

Castiel stares after him. 

And then, the truth of the situation smacks him.

They got their wires crossed. Dean didn’t ask him if he wanted a relationship. He just asked him if he wanted sex.

_How could I be so stupid?_

He’s Dean “The Machine” Winchester. Dean doesn’t do _relationships._ He’s not even out publicly! Maybe if he’d been clearer, maybe if they’d taken the time to talk rather than letting their lust get in the way, maybe if he hadn’t believed he’d actually had a _chance_ with someone like Dean...God, the construction is finishing by the end of the week, and he’s probably leaving as soon as it’s finished. This was probably just his last hurrah, his chance to get his rocks off with his “hot boss” before he goes back to his starlets and his mansion and his stupid In-N-Out Burger. 

Castiel sits up, rubbing his temples. He can’t do casual anymore, even if he could have anyone he wants like Dean can. He’s a 36-year-old father. He thought he and Dean had more, but clearly, Castiel Novak is destined to be alone for the rest of his life, tending a store he never wanted and watching as his family and friends go off and have wonderful, fulfilling lives. His son will have that, too, he’ll make damn sure of it. It’s just not in the cards for him.

But it’s fine. He can enjoy the one time he had with Dean. He even has something to contribute the next time he and his Trusty Rusties get together and talk sex—though, honestly, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to talk about it.

He gathers his clothes. 

The door to the bathroom opens, steam billowing out as Dean enters the bedroom. “Hey, Cas, I—what are you doing?”

“Heading out.” He refuses to look at him, concentrating on the buttons on his shirt.

“You are?” 

If Castiel didn’t know better, he’d swear Dean sounded disappointed. 

But he knows he’s wrong when Dean adds lightly, “I thought you wanted to see the sunrise here. And hey, I was gonna make you breakfast. The whole kit and caboodle.”

Castiel shimmies his socks onto his feet in a huff, trying not to feel hurt (or at least not to sound like he is). “I don’t need the bed and breakfast treatment, but thank you.”

Dean’s voice is teasing when he says, “You sure? I hear fluffernutter pancakes are all the rage around here.”

“I wouldn’t know. Never had one.” He stands, finally facing Dean, who’s still damp and gorgeous in the lamplight. _Damn him._ “Thanks for a fun time.” He just barely refrains from emphasizing _fun_ sarcastically. “Good night.” He approaches the door, desperate to get away.

“Cas?”

Castiel turns reluctantly yet hopefully, his heart beating rapidly against his chest. “Yes?”

“I drove. Your car isn’t here.” That teasing grin still sits crookedly on his face.

 _Oh._ _Of course._ He pushes his humiliation down by sheer will. _So much for a dramatic exit._ He pulls himself together and says, “That’s okay. It’s a nice night. I’ll walk. It’s not even half an hour.”

“Cas, it’s—”

“Night.” He leaves without looking back, his hope smashed to pieces on the bedroom floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took a turn.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief warning in the end notes, so as not to spoil anything.

After his less-than-impressive exit from Dean’s room, Castiel walks down the hall, down the stairs, and into the living room, all at a perfectly normal, nonchalant pace. He maintains his nonchalance until he sits on the couch, where they shared their first kiss just a short time ago. “Fuck,” he chokes in a whisper as he shoves his foot into his shoe. “Why? Why can’t I have him?”

_You know why, idiot._

He stops shoving and covers his eyes with the heels of his hands, pressing firmly to dam the tears. After a moment, he swallows and focuses on his feet again, managing to put on and tie both of his shoes.

Castiel steps into the kitchen and shrugs into his coat, which he left draped over a chair. His eyes skate over the mess they left. He can’t help but pick up the napkins and straighten the spoon rest, but he stops when he’s faced with the jars of peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. He sighs. How could he have been so wrong?

He leans against the counter, thinking over everything they’ve been through up to this point. He knows he’s tragically bad at reading the signs of a situation, but honestly, he thought he finally had it right. Dean has always been sweet, kind, helpful, good...even when Castiel was being a bit of an ass to him, assuming the worst, Dean has been wonderful.

Assuming the worst is something that he’s very good at.

Very, _very_ good at.

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to do what his friends and family have always suggested he do when he veers toward the pessimistic side of his realism—look at things from a different, more optimistic point of view. 

He starts by pretending that he and Dean have been together a long time, but it’s not helpful because if they were, Dean wouldn’t have acted like that, would he? And if he had, Castiel would’ve asked him what the issue was, because it would’ve been unusual behavior. Just like it was tonight.

But they haven’t been together a long time. Hell, they’re not even together _yet_. Still, he knows his behavior felt odd, out of character. 

So he considers everything he believes about Dean. What others he trusts believe about Dean. 

Then he considers his beliefs about himself. The things he knows he has to work on. The things he thinks about himself that maybe aren’t true. That Dean and others have told him aren’t true.

He tries to see himself the way other people see him. 

He thinks that he’s too old and done too much good to think so little of himself. He wants more, deserves more.

He thinks about the life he wants and who he wants it with. 

He thinks that he has a boring life because he’s always done what he thought others have wanted him to do, that he’s never given chances or taken chances—except for Matthew, a big, scary adventure that made his life both a whole lot less boring and incredibly rich. 

He thinks _I want to do that again._

Without further thought, he climbs up the stairs, determined to...he’s not sure what, exactly. Speak his mind. Find out where Dean’s head is at. Yell. Demand answers. Plead. His brain is wading in such a strange stew of emotions and possibilities that he’s not sure which way to go.

Perhaps this is why he always chose the safe path. 

He reaches the door, which is still open. It brings up all those feelings again—the tenderness and the passion, but also the cavalier, teasing attitude that just felt wrong. For a moment, he stands with his back against the wall, unsure if he can do this. Then he leans against the doorjamb, easing himself in like he’s dipping his toes in cold water. 

That’s when he sees Dean in the mirror that stands in the corner.

He’s in the large bed, looking small and lost in it. His hands sit loosely on his lap. His eyes stare vacantly toward the French doors, and his mouth is drawn down. He looks like he's been crying….or _is_ crying.

Castiel feels like an absolute ass. He _knew_ something was wrong.

“Dean?”

As Castiel steps into the room, Dean pastes a smile on his face while he picks up his phone from the nightstand, fumbling it in his haste. “Oh, hey! Just watching some of those damn reunion videos, you know the ones with the kids and soldiers and shit?” He swipes under his eyes. “Did you forget something?”

His heart in his throat, Castiel says, “Yeah.” He walks around the bed until he’s by Dean’s side. “I forgot my good sense. I forgot that I’m worthy of affection, of a relationship, and that someone might actually want that with me. I forgot to fight for myself and for you. I forgot that you’ve been nothing but amazing to me, and I forgot to trust you. I forgot that you get nervous because you always seem so perfect and put together, especially next to me because I’m always a wreck in front of you. I forgot you told me that when you’re nervous, you make light of stuff. I forgot that I jump to negative conclusions much too fast and act on them even faster, and that I have to work on that. But then I remembered.”

Dean’s fake smile fell steadily as Castiel talked, and now his eyes are glassy and his chin is quivering as he gazes at him. 

“Can I hug you, Dean?”

Dean nods, blinking his eyes rapidly as he opens his arms. Castiel throws himself at him, a tear slipping from his eye. He hangs on tight, cradling Dean’s head in his hand as he buries his face in Dean’s neck. 

“When you asked me if I wanted this as much as you, I thought you were talking about a relationship,” Castiel says when they finally part. “Were you? Or were you asking me about sex? I need to know, Dean, I can’t play—”

“A relationship. I wanted—I _want_ —a relationship with you.”

“Then what was that you did? Why did you act…like...”

“Like an asshole?” Dean finishes for him. “I freaked out. I got so overwhelmed with...with how I feel about you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. When I’m with you, Cas, I feel naked, like, emotionally, and it feels good but it’s just a lot, it always is, and tonight…” 

He sighs. Castiel waits.

“I’ve never made love to anyone, never felt like someone saw me the way that you did, that you do. And the way you looked at me...I got scared that I’m not that guy that you thought you were seeing, that you were looking at that way. I’m just a dumbass who’s never stood up for himself and never been in a real, adult relationship. I got scared that you’d see right through me, that you’d give up ’cause I don’t know what I’m doing. And when I get nervous, scared...well, you saw.”

Castiel sighs out his residual anger and nervousness, understanding rushing in to take their place. He cards his fingers through Dean’s hair. “If we’d been together for three years already, how do you think this would’ve gone?”

Dean’s brow furrows in confusion.

“If we’d already been through all the awkward,” Castiel explains. “If we knew what we were doing, as much as anyone does. If we’d already seen each other at our worst. If we’d passed that honeymoon stage where we don’t want the other to see our flaws. If you had three years of practice being in a relationship. If I looked at you like that so many times that you were used to it and accepted it as fact. If you were confident in my feelings for you. If you knew I was staying.”

“Huh,” he breathes, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I...I guess I wouldn’t have been nervous, so I wouldn’t have said that stupid shit. I would’ve...I would’ve kissed you again, and I would’ve pulled you into my arms and snuggled with you instead of panicking in the bathroom, knowing I ruined everything.”

“And I would’ve happily snuggled with you. But,” Castiel grins, wanting to make Dean smile and lighten the heaviness in his heart like Dean’s done so many times for him, “I would’ve suggested we shower together before we snuggled so I could wash the come out of my ass to avoid my current discomfort.”

Dean bursts into laughter, spraying spittle on Castiel’s face.

“That’s not the kind of shower I meant, Dean.”

“I’m sorry, fuck, that’s embarrassing—”

“Good,” he chuckles. He gently moves the hand Dean was using to dry his face. “It’s okay to be imperfect with me. It’s okay to embarrass yourself in front of me. God knows I’ve done it way too many times in front of you.”

“What? When?”

“Oh, I don’t know, when I had toilet paper up my nose? Or egg on my face? Or when I was sleeping at work? Or—”

“You were embarrassed? Why? I thought you were cute.”

“And I thought you were cute just now. See? We have to see ourselves the way others see us. This really smart guy that I’m into taught me that.”

A faint flush of pink dusts Dean’s cheeks. “You still into him?”

“Yeah. Very much.” He traces the line of Dean’s jaw with a fingertip. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions instead of talking to you.”

“I’m sorry I acted like that and upset you. That was the last thing I wanted, ’cause I’m really into you, too. Like really, really into you. And not for sex, okay? For _you._ ”

“Same here. Hey, look at us, getting better at this communication thing. In three years, we might actually have the hang of it.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “You mean that? You see that for us? Years?”

“Yeah.” Castiel lowers his hands to Dean’s and grasps them. “Be my boyfriend?”

Castiel yelps as Dean tackles him and kisses _yes_ into his skin.

They make love again—simple handjobs and slow, luscious kisses this time—then cuddle in each other’s arms like they were meant to. 

“I’ve decided I want the bed and breakfast treatment after all,” Castiel says.

“You got it, sweetheart.” He picks up his phone and fiddles with it for a moment, then places it back on the nightstand. “I set an alarm. You want fluffernutter pancakes tomorrow?”

“I didn’t even know those were a thing.”

“I have no idea if they are. Figured you’d know.”

“No clue.”

“We’ll figure it out together.”

Castiel smiles. Yes, they will.

* * *

_“Morning, sunshine.”_

_Castiel buries his smile in the covers, reluctant to move from the silky sheets that smell like them._

_“Time to wake up.”_

_He doesn’t move._

_“We’re going to be late, sweetheart.” Fingers slip under the covers and tickle his neck._

_Castiel squirms, then settles into the blankets again when the tickling stops._

_“Don’t you want to get away together?”_

_“Nmmmm.”_

_His boyfriend chuckles. “I guess if going away with me doesn’t excite you, I’ll have to excite you in other ways,” Dean murmurs, sliding a soft hand along his ribs. He opens his eyes, grinning as Dean’s happy green eyes meet his. “There you are, hot stuff.”_

_Castiel snorts._

_Dean lies down next to him. “We have a few minutes. I could do you dirty.”_

_“Wow, you know how to romance a guy.”_

_They chuckle as they wrap their arms around each other. “You know me,” Dean smirks after planting a kiss on his lips. “I lo—”_

A shoulder shake wakes Castiel. “Hey, the sun ain’t gonna wait for you,” Dean says, rumbly but affectionate.

The room is still dark, but it’s the sort of dark that hints at morning rather than night. “Hmm. Yes. Okay.”

“Bathroom’s set up for you to shower. Come on out when you’re ready, but don’t take too long or you’ll miss it.”

Castiel hasn’t lost his ability to wake quickly from sleep, so it takes little time for him to spring out of bed and jump into the shower. The hot water feels wonderful on his body—particularly his tender ass—but he doesn’t dawdle, preferring to get back out to Dean and the sunrise.

He finds Dean outside on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket cocoon on an Adirondack chair. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, opening the cocoon to let Castiel inside.

“Hello, Dean.” He curls up on Dean’s lap, drawing his face down for a kiss. Dean returns it eagerly, softly. “Good morning.”

“Great morning.” Dean hands him a mug. “Made you tea.”

“Got my shower ready, made our drinks, dragged these blankets out here...how long have you been up?”

“Long enough so you don’t see my grumpy side.”

“And here I thought you were a morning person.”

“Not so much.”

Castiel chuckles, then takes a grateful sip. It’s just right. “Thank you, babe.”

Dean’s face lights up. “I like this relationship thing already.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. No one’s ever called me ‘babe’ like _that_ before.”

“Like what?”

“You know, all...soft.”

Castiel reaches out to caress his face. Dean leans into it. “Someone should have.”

“I wanted it,” he admits quietly, “but after a while I stopped trying. When you have to act like a tool, people treat you that way. Add gobs of money on top of that and people who think they can get ahead with you and...well, let’s just say I lost faith in humanity.”

 _Oh, so it wasn’t that Dean didn’t do relationships, it was that Dean couldn’t have a proper one, so he stopped trying. But he’s trying now, with me._ “You can have faith in me,” Castiel murmurs.

“I know. I do. And you can have faith in me.” 

“I do.”

They kiss again. This kiss is longer, hungrier. More kisses follow, each deeper and more desperate than the last. Dean takes his cup from his hand so they can move even closer together. They whisper and touch and kiss until they’re breathless. 

“Cas,” Dean gasps between kisses.

“Yeah?”

“When the sunrise is over, I want you to fuck me.”

Castiel stops. “I’m not waiting for the sun to rise to fuck you. Come on.” He stands and tugs on Dean’s hands.

“But no, you wanted to do this, sweetheart, I can wait.”

“Do you honestly think I want to watch the sunrise more than I want to make love to you? There will be plenty of sunrises, but not plenty of mornings when I have you all to myself. Come on.”

“Okay, but wait,” Dean insists. He does something with his phone, propping it against his half-filled coffee cup. “Okay.”

“What was that all about?”

“I’m gonna record it. For you.”

Castiel yanks him into a scorching kiss, keeping them locked together as he walks them inside. 

They quickly strip off the few clothes they’re wearing and collapse onto the bed. They roll on top of the covers for a while, mouthing and sucking every inch of skin as cool ocean air ghosts over their nude bodies. Neither of them wanting to close the door when the air gets too cool, they slip under the covers instead. Castiel has a destination in mind, so just as Dean’s about to tangle with him again, he ducks and shimmies down to Dean’s cock, taking it into his mouth.

“Fuck!” he hears above the covers.

Smiling around his cock, he slides up and down, changing his pace to see what makes Dean squirm the most. Delighting in his sounds and movements, he loses himself in the pleasure of giving pleasure until there’s a tug on his hair.

“Not gonna last if you keep doing that,” Dean pants. “Besides, I want a turn.”

Soon Castiel finds himself on the receiving end of the pleasure, and he loses himself in _that_ until he knows, like Dean did, that he won’t last. He lifts the covers. “You still want me to?” he asks.

Dean crawls up and lands next to him. “Yeah,” he breathes. 

Castiel kisses him deeply, getting a taste of himself to go with the coffee-and-Dean taste he already had, then sits up to grab the lube. “How do you like it?” 

Dean shrugs, casting his gaze down. 

“No preference, or…or have you never...?”

“Never. Always on top. Didn’t have a ton of hookups with guys, and the ones I had were...I mean, I didn’t want my first time to be a one-and-done kind of thing. I don’t...give away that kind of trust.”

His heart soaring at the sort of trust that Dean’s implying being placed in him, Castiel holds his hand and tips his head up until their eyes lock. “I will make it so good for you. And I promise that we are not a one-and-done thing. We’re gonna have lots of times to make love however you like it, lots of times to eat meals together, lots of times to see sunrises and sunsets and rainstorms and snowstorms, lots of time to work together and play together and probably argue…” Castiel smiles as Dean laughs, at least until a foolish but important thought crosses his mind. “You know I come as a package, though, right? I mean, I know you know, but you understand that—”

“Of course I do, Cas,” Dean smiles gently. “I love your package.”

“Dean.”

Dean pulls him down and rolls them to their sides. “I know. He comes first, and that just makes me crazier about you, you being such a loving dad. It doesn’t scare me.”

“I’m glad. I will make time for you, though, for us. I’m going to figure out how to balance my life a little better.”

“Good. You deserve that.”

They watch each other with warm eyes until Castiel remembers what he’s supposed to be doing. “And you deserve a jaw-dropping orgasm, which I am going to try to deliver.”

Dean’s pupils dilate. Castiel grins mischievously before he plunges his tongue into Dean’s mouth. His fingers mimic the action soon after, circling and then entering his hole one by one, exploring until they find what they want and Dean is moaning and arching off the bed. 

“Fuck, Cas, fuck,” he pants.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It was weird at first but no-o-o-o-w...oh God…”

“That’s it, babe.”

“Fuck, I…” 

He sits up and onto his lap, forcing Castiel to change position as Dean bounces on his fingers, begging for more. He tugs at Castiel’s cock, reminding him of just how close he is yet again. He’d like to return the favor, but he’s trying to keep Dean upright as he works himself with abandon on Castiel’s fingers. Dean doesn’t even need to touch his cock for him to come if he keeps up _this_ show. 

“Dean, wanna be in you.”

That slows him enough to look at Castiel with hazy eyes.

“You seem to like this. Do you want to try it this way? Cowboy?”

Dean snickers. “I have always wanted to be a cowboy.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Okay, cowboy, then ride me.”

They shift until Castiel is on his back and Dean is straddling him. They discuss condoms, which Dean doesn’t want (“You didn’t use one” “It’s personal preference, not a contest, Dean”), and apply generous amounts of lube. Then, Dean perches himself over Castiel’s cock and, after several starts and stops, envelops it completely in his tight heat.

“Fuck,” they gasp simultaneously, then laugh. 

After a few moments, Dean slowly moves up and down Castiel’s shaft. He looks impossibly gorgeous, his face flush and body glistening with perspiration in the dawn light drifting into the room. The ocean and their mutual moans and breaths are the only sounds in the otherwise still morning. Castiel keeps his eyes on Dean, and Dean only has eyes for Castiel. They hold hands and watch each other until Dean asks, “Roll over?” 

They separate as briefly as possible, only long enough to switch positions and tuck a pillow under Dean to support him. Castiel, now hovering over him as Dean lies on the bed watching him, slides back into Dean easily. He tilts Dean just so, then pours his entire heart into Dean’s mouth as he kisses him, moving his hips like waves against the shore, crashing into him again and again until Dean cries out and digs into Castiel’s back. Castiel slips a hand onto Dean’s cock, giving it only a few strokes before Dean cries out again and spills between them. With an open smile and glowing eyes, Dean pulls him down for a kiss, making Castiel’s thrusts harder as he cups his asscheeks and squeezes until he, too, cries out in ecstasy, then collapses onto him.

“Oh,” Castiel utters, more a breath than a word. 

“Mmmmmmm,” Dean purrs.

“You okay?”

“Okay doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

Castiel carefully pulls out of Dean, then combs his damp hair off of his forehead. “You want to clean up?”

“In a minute. Grab my phone?”

A little put off by the break in their intimacy at first, he then remembers that Dean was recording the sunrise for him. Castiel walks to the balcony naked and picks up his phone. He crawls back into bed, sitting up against the pillows, and instantly feels better when Dean tucks himself into his side. 

“Let’s look at the sunrise.”

It’s a gorgeous one, streaks of pink, blue and orange stretching across the sky. It’s even better when they hear their shouts over the surf; they giggle as Dean declares it “the best sunrise ever.” He takes a few screenshots, then asks, “Can I post this and tag your Insta?”

“Sure.”

Dean told him that he’s hardly been on his official social media accounts since the uproar at the store and Castiel’s response to it, only going on to thank people for their support. Now, he logs in and uploads one of the pictures, along with a caption:

_Tried to watch this gorgeous sunrise with my boyfriend @casnov, but turns out I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. Good thing we recorded it._

“Dean,” Castiel whispers. “Are you sure you want to say that?”

“Yeah. Okay with you?” 

Castiel kisses him sweetly. “Yes. I’m proud of you. For so many things.”

“Same.” He presses a kiss of his own to Castiel’s lips. “We should shower so I can make you breakfast. I have to work today.”

Castiel’s face falls. He completely forgot that Dean had to work. “Call in sick,” he urges him with a pout.

Dean grins as he mimes picking up a phone. “Hi, boss? Yeah, I can’t work today. I’m really sick. Bedridden. Boy, have I been bedridden. You too? What a coincidence.” 

Castiel slumps down the bed in a fit of laughter. Dean joins him, tangling their legs together as he tugs him into his arms and smacks loud kisses to his cheek. 

“Seriously, though, I gotta be there,” Dean says, pressing one more kiss into his bedhead before rolling away and standing. “It’s just Alex, and she isn’t ready to be alone.”

“Call Patience?”

“She worked yesterday.”

“So?”

Dean snorts. “I like this side of you. But I can’t. I’d feel bad waking her. And I think she was out late with Jack and some other kids celebrating Jack’s birthday.”

Castiel nearly forgot he has dinner plans with Jack tonight. Jack wanted a home-cooked meal, so he’s cooking and having family over. “Come over for dinner tonight, then? Jack wanted spaghetti and meatballs for his birthday.”

“Sounds good. Now come on. I got breakfast to make.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, look at them using words! 😍
> 
> *Warning: NSFW.


	19. Chapter 19

Fluffernutter pancakes are Castiel’s new favorite thing.

He’s not sure if it’s because they were so decadent or if it’s because the kisses Dean gave him between flips were, but he hopes he never has to figure it out. 

After they parted at Castiel’s with a long, delicious kiss that left him wanting more, he spent some time alone, tidying up a little (he’s having company over, he _had_ to) and enjoying an actual adult book. 

He skipped lunch and took a nap. 

In the afternoon he went out to the grocery store, since he woke up to a text from Jack begging him to make his five-cheese lasagna instead of spaghetti. It was a lot more work, but it was for Jack, so he didn’t mind. He shopped happily, chatted with people he recognized from the store happily, waited in line happily. Having time off agreed with him, he realized—that and being in a relationship. He isn’t foolish enough to base all his happiness on being in a relationship, but he won’t deny that it certainly helps.

He went home, made lasagna, checked his Instagram—which _blew up, holy shit_ —and waited for his family to arrive.

Now the house is crowded—his parents, Matthew (God, he missed him), Grammy, Gabe and Sam, and Jack. He wishes he had a bigger place for all of them, but they’ll make do like they always have. He’s not going to be ashamed of it anymore. He sets up the card tables and folding chairs his parents brought over. 

Dean arrives shortly after 6:00, and if he’s overwhelmed by the people in the cottage, he doesn’t show it. Not at first, anyway. He approaches Castiel and leans in, but pauses before he hits his target. “Is a kiss okay in front of everyone or no?” he asks quietly.

Touched that Dean asked, Castiel cups his jaw and kisses him sweetly. “It’s fine.”

“Good.” He returns the kiss, longer and lingering, before they part and he takes Matthew into his arms, laying smooches on his cheek.

“So, Dean, is it?” Castiel’s father asks and oh, no, he has that twinkle in his eyes. Castiel tries to shoot his father a _don’t you dare_ glare, but he either doesn’t see it or ignores it, much like his other son. 

“Yes, sir.” Dean extends his hand for a handshake. 

“Joe Novak,” his father says. 

For one brief, hopeful moment, Castiel thinks that will be the end of it. But of course it isn’t.

“So,” Joe says, still holding Dean’s hand, “you’re the one who crashed into my pride and joy.”

Dean pales. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” 

“That’s all right. Not like I spent years and years buildin’ her up or anythin’.”

“Dad,” Castiel scolds him as he comes to Dean’s rescue.

“Aww, don’t you worry, son, we’re square,” he continues, patting Dean on the shoulder as he releases his grip. “You avoided hurtin’ my real pride and joys, right here.” His father moves a hand to Castiel’s shoulder and the other to Matthew’s head. “Plus I hear you’re a hell of a hard worker.”

“Thank you, sir. I try.”

“And I hear that you got a thing with my son here, eh?”

Castiel covers his face. He’s already regretting calling them ahead of time and sharing his news. “Dad, please don’t scare him away.”

“Now, now, if he’s scared of your daddy, he ain’t man enough for you, is he?”

“Jesus, Dad, honestly—”

“Are you gay or not?”

The question seems to stun Dean, given his big eyes, but Castiel nods in resignation to whatever point his father is trying to make. “Yeah, Dad, you know I am.”

“Well, then, if you’re gay, you like men. So I gotta make sure he’s a man for ya.”

“I really, _really_ can assure you he is, and I don’t need—”

“Dean, lemme tell you somethin’. Castiel here is our baby—”

“I’m thirty-six!”

“—and I don’t take lightly to any old fool comin’ in and throwin’ pretty words his way. Now, you’re a man, eh son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And men, real men, when they give their word, it means somethin’. You’re a man of your word, right, Dean?”

“Of course, yeah.”

“So datin’ is kinda like givin’ your word to someone, yeah?”

Dean nods. Castiel would love to save him, but he knows his father will get to Dean one way or another. Better to get it over with.

“All right, then. So you’re givin’ your word to my son and my grandson that you ain’t some Hollywood lowlife who’s gonna cut and run as soon as some other pretty thing catches your eye, right?”

Dean clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “Sir, I promise, I care a lot about Cas and Matthew. I'm not going anywhere unless Cas wants me to.”

Joe squints at him for a long moment, then slaps his bicep hard. “Well, all right, then! C’mon, I’ll introduce ya to the family, then I wanna hear all about this liquor thing you do. I gotta buddy who…”

Castiel watches as his father leads Dean and Matthew to his mother and grandmother, then outside, where Castiel has the lawn chairs that came with the rental set up on the grass. Everyone trickles out and sits with them (both his father and Dean are magnets like that). Castiel stays back to prepare the garlic toast. He hears loud laughter and peers outside, where Dean is laughing with them as he gestures animatedly. The baby is now in Jack’s arms, also laughing. Castiel breathes a sigh of relief as he watches them fondly. If Dean can make it through tonight with his dad, he’s in. He goes back to the kitchen to pop the bread under the broiler and then, just as an excuse to check on Dean, he brings some Devil’s Deal and disposable cups outside.

He only means to stay for a moment, filling drinks and then tending to his preparations indoors, but they’re having so much fun and everyone yells at him to stay, so he does. With no chairs left, Castiel begins to lower himself onto the grass.

“Nah, nah, here, Cas,” Dean says, moving to stand. 

“Dean, I’m not taking your chair.”

“Just take the damn chair.”

“You are the guest here.”

“A man shouldn’t be left without a chair at his own damn house.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I don’t care, I sit on the floor all the time with Matthew.”

“Well I _do_ care, and—”

Gabriel chimes in with, “Cas, take the chair. Dean, sit in his lap.”

“I don’t think the chair will hold, Gabe—”

“What, are you saying I’m slacking off on my workouts?” Dean teases, and before Castiel knows it, he’s sitting and Dean is sitting on top of him.

And then they’re on the ground, both wet with whiskey.

“Ow-w-w-w-w,” Castiel moans on a laugh, which makes Dean and everyone else laugh, too. 

“Sorry, sunshine,” Dean murmurs, kissing his cheek, then helping him up.

“It’s okay,” he chuckles. “I—oh shit, the bread!”

He runs inside, everyone else following, and is hit with the unpleasant smell of burnt garlic. “Damn it,” he mutters. “I totally forgot I put it under the broiler. I usually bake it.”

“Aww, we can just scrape off the burnt stuff,” his father says behind him. “That’s the way we did it when I used to burn stuff.”

“The few times I actually let you near a stove before I smartened up,” Castiel’s mother, Elyse, teases her husband.

“I was too distracted by you every time, sweetheart, just like Cas here.”

“Oh, Joe, it already smells bad in here, don’t add a bunch of shit to it,” she says affectionately. 

He chuckles and pulls her into a kiss, leaving space for Dean to move around them and approach Castiel. “Eh, that’s not bad. I’ll eat it.”

“Dean.”

“It’s just...well-done! I like my garlic toast well-done.”

“This isn’t even garlic toast anymore. It’s garlic briquettes.”

“I will still eat it.”

Gabriel, peeking in at the scene, comments, “Wow, that’s love, man. You should keep him, ‘cause I sure as hell wouldn’t eat that.”

Castiel and Dean flip him the bird simultaneously, then giggle and kiss over the tray of very, _very_ crispy toast.

Dinner—minus the garlic bread incident, bread which both Dean and his father do, in fact, eat—goes smoothly, for the most part. Dean is a good sport about his father’s litany of jokes (“What’s Dean’s favorite place to see a movie? A drive-in!”). Jack, the birthday boy, is basking in the attention, even putting his phone away for minutes at a time. His mom and Grammy both seem charmed by Dean, and Sam manages to rein in Gabe from time to time. The only thing that bothers Castiel is that Dean merely picks at his lasagna. As Dean’s usually a hearty eater, it’s odd from him. He doesn’t have a way of asking him without alerting others and making it A Thing, though, so he dismisses it since he seems fine otherwise.

Jack opens gifts after dinner, then they indulge in the other treat that Jack just _had_ to have. Dean seems to have gotten his appetite back, because he enjoys three pieces of the sweet cake that Cas made from one of Kelly’s recipes. “What is this, Cas? It’s awesome,” he gushes.

“It’s a tres leches cake. Glad you like it.”

“It’s interesting that it means ‘three milks’ but you actually use four in it if you count the heavy cream for the topping,” Jack notes. “I always thought that was weird.”

“Thr-uh, four, four milks?” Dean asks.

“The heavy cream, as Jack mentioned, plus condensed, whole, and evaporated,” Castiel lists for him. 

“Ah,” Dean nods, an odd look passing over his face before he smiles. “Well, it’s awesome, Cas.”

“It’s very good. You’re a much better cook than your father,” Grammy declares. 

“When I want to be, I guess,” Castiel jokes. 

Castiel breaks up the party just after 8:00 because he needs to get Matthew to bed and get himself ready for work. He holds Dean back, though, hoping he’ll stay even though the bed—the whole place, really—is akin to “roughing it” for him. He’s been acting increasingly closed off, and Castiel just wants him close.

But when he asks, Dean says no.

“I can’t, babe,” he says, looking regretful. 

“Why not? We are going to the same place, after all,” he says playfully, squeezing Dean’s hands as he uses a line Dean’s used on him before. His hands feel clammy and he’s sweating. “Are you okay?”

“I just, uh, don’t feel good, and—”

“Oh! Well, Dean, you shouldn’t have to go through that alone. Not when you have a boyfriend to take care of you.”

“Really, babe, this—”

“Sit. I’m going to get Matthew to bed, then I’ll come out here and help you, okay?”

Castiel shakes his head at Dean’s weak “Okay.” 

“I don’t know why he’s being so stubborn,” he says to Matthew. He changes him, then reads him a book and sings him a song before he sets him down in his crib with a kiss and a “Love you, honey.”

When he comes out of the bedroom, Dean isn’t there. “What the fuck?” he says to no one, brows furrowed in irritation. His mind begins its usual speculation until he tells it firmly to stop and look for a reasonable explanation. Dean wouldn’t just run off.

He finds a note scribbled on the back of an envelope:

_Cas—_

_Be back soon. Gotta grab something._

_—D_

Okay, he _would_ just run off, but he has an explanation of sorts. And really, if he’s sick, he shouldn’t force him to be here. He just wanted to watch over him. He finds his phone to tell him that when Dean knocks and enters.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Had to get outta here so this relationship didn’t end before it got started.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I, um, don’t do well with lactose.”

Castiel frowns. “But I’ve seen you eat pizza and—”

“I take an enzyme. I didn’t bring it with me because I didn’t think we were having a bunch of dairy tonight.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, so, uh, the cake—which I didn’t know had all that milk in it—it, uh, you know...it was makin’ me sick, so I swung by the store.”

Castiel leans back slightly and folds his arms. “You went to the store because you’re lactose intolerant and you weren’t feeling well? Did you need your medicine? You should’ve told me, I could’ve gone for—”

“No, Cas, I went there ‘cause it was close, you know?”

“What? I don’t—”

“Dude, I went there because it was about to get ugly and I didn’t wanna drop the dirty dynamite in your bathroom, for fuck’s sake!”

For a second, he can only stare. But then, Castiel’s chest rumbles until peals of laughter erupt from it. He keeps laughing, holding on to Dean’s arm so he doesn’t run away. He knows, somewhere in his mind, that he shouldn’t be laughing, but the entire thing is so ridiculous. “You went to the store to take a shit?”

“Stop laughing! I did it for us!”

That only makes him laugh harder and pull Dean closer, and soon Dean is joining him, tears running down their cheeks. 

“Oh my God, Dean,” Castiel says when he finally gets himself under control. They’re on the couch now, collapsed there when their legs couldn’t hold them up anymore. “You left my house, where there was a perfectly good bathroom, to _drive to the store_ to use the one there.”

“Trust me, that is...not something you wanna be exposed to on our second day together, okay?”

Castiel tsks as he runs a hand through Dean’s hair, then rests it on his shoulder. “I’m already crazy about you, you know. I'm not going to laugh—well, I did, but I wasn’t laughing at you or your condition, I was laughing at the lengths you went to that were completely unnecessary—and I’m not going to turn you away for being human.”

Dean nods. “Still workin’ on that faith in humanity part, I guess. Or in myself, maybe.”

“I know.” Castiel kisses him softly. “You want to watch some TV before bed?”

“Yeah.”

They cuddle on the couch, Dean having to leave occasionally for his upset stomach and Castiel welcoming him back without a word. 

In bed later, they talk in low voices, not wanting to wake Matthew. 

“Your dad doesn’t sound like he’s from around here.”

“No, he’s from away. Texas.”

“How’d he end up here?”

“He came to Lupine Cove with his family for a week’s vacation when he was twenty-two. He met my mother, was ‘instantly smitten,’ he says, and never left.”

Castiel hears Dean smile, a quiet huff in the dark. “Guess Lupine Cove has that effect on people.”

“Think so?” he asks, his heart fluttering like a flag on the ocean breeze.

“Worked on me.”

Castiel hums. “I suppose it works in reverse, too. The local besotted by the dashing man from away.”

“Dashing, huh?”

“Or goofy, boisterous, adorable man, whatever.”

Dean snorts, then his stomach gurgles. “Uh, be right back,” he says before quickly but quietly leaving the room. When he returns, he apologizes.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’ll just make sure to keep some of that enzyme stuff here for you.”

“Most of the time it’s not this bad. It’s usually just gas and shit. Well, not shit, just gas.”

Castiel chuckles. “Well, good to see we’ve gotten past the awkwardness of talking about it already. You know, I used to use simethicone drops for Matthew when he was gassy. Do I need to keep some on hand for you?”

“Fuck you. I will Dutch oven your ass.”

“We are not _that_ advanced in our relationship yet.”

They snicker, muffling themselves with their hands until they calm down. Castiel runs his fingers along Dean’s arm. “I get nervous that you’re not staying sometimes,” he says, picking up the thread of their previous conversation. “It’s probably me, I know, but—”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“You said your dad was instantly smitten. I was, too. I rented that house for you, because of that conversation we had with the Rusties when I was looking for a new place. Charlie mentioned that house and I...I wanted to make you happy, even if nothing was going on with us at the time.”

This is news to Castiel. “You did?”

“Yeah. And Anna? When I said we talked? I told her that I appreciated her attention, but I couldn’t reciprocate because I was already into you.”

Castiel’s mouth drops open. “That little shit didn’t tell me that!”

“I asked her not to. I wanted things to happen naturally between us, in our own time, each of us. She was funny, though, Cas. I thought maybe it would be awkward, but it totally wasn’t.”

Remembering how attracted Anna was to Dean, he asks, “No?”

“No. When I asked her to stop, she thought she was making me uncomfortable and felt bad, but I told her it wasn’t that. I said I was uncomfortable, yes, but it was because I was into _you_ , and as soon as I said that, she was like, ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry! If I’d known I would’ve backed right the fuck off! You do _not_ mess with your friend’s man; that’s the _code_.’”

The men chuckle quietly.

“She never flirted with me after that.”

“I noticed. It seemed so sudden.”

“Yeah. Now you know.”

Castiel smiles. He really does have the best friends. His smile quickly turns to a horrified cringe. “Oh no, I didn’t tell them!”

“Dude, you’re gonna be in trouble.”

Castiel picks up his phone from the nightstand; he sees the Messenger icon with its red notification glaring at him. He'd ignored it earlier, too overwhelmed with the Instagram traffic and making dinner. He opens the app and cringes as he sees various emojis, exclamation points, and all-caps directed his way.

“Maybe a pic would appease them?” Dean asks, reading over his shoulder. He picks up his own phone to take the photo, criticizing Castiel’s cracked, bare-bones smartphone. They take only one, since they don’t want to disturb Matthew too much. The night mode on his phone lights up their kiss perfectly, so there’s no doubt that they’re together. Dean sends him the photo, then he posts it to the group.

_Cas: [1 photo]_

_Cas: Sorry. Been kind of busy. ;)_

_Charlie: AWWWWWWWWWWWWW_

_Anna: Yay! You two are perfect together!_

_Cas: You and I are gonna chat, missy. xo_

_Ana Jo: You are forgiven for not telling us sooner._

_Charlie: Why are you chatting with Anna? WHAT DID SHE KNOW?_

_Ana Jo: Is he with you right now?_

_Cas: Yes. We just took the pic._

_Cas: Anna knew Dean was interested in me._

_Charlie: Well, we all knew that, but WHAT?_

_Ana Jo: You bitch, keeping that from us xxxx_

_Anna: Dean swore me to secrecy. Sorry. My hands were tied. xxxx_

_Ana Jo: I heard you like that_

_Anna: No, I do the tying ;)_

_Ana Jo: Yeah girl_

_Cas: We’ll talk soon. Love you all_

Still smiling at the conversation, Castiel snuggles against Dean’s side. He’s just drifting off when Dean whispers, “Can I tell you something else?”

“Mmm.”

“I found some land.”

“Land?”

“Yeah. And a house. ’Cause I’m staying. Just in case you were still nervous.”

Castiel finds his lips in the dark and presses a soft kiss onto them. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sounds like they’re moving into some real relationship stuff here...for better or worse. 😂 Poor Dean.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More NSFW. 😘 And other important stuff.

Dating Dean is like not dating Dean, except there’s sex. 

And sharing a bed.

And affectionate names.

And endless teasing from _everyone_.

There haven’t been romantic getaways, or wine tastings, or even a lot of actual dates. With how busy they are, they mostly cook at home when they’re not exhausted, having family or friends over sometimes. They take Matthew to the beach and the park, spending as much time with him as they can. Occasionally Castiel’s parents or brother or friends take Matthew, so those are the times when they squeeze in loud sex that probably disturbs the neighbors.

They’ve gotten their first fight out of the way. It was when Castiel found out that Dean and Bobby hadn’t been completely honest about where the money came from for some of those extras he got at the store, including the ice cream stand: 

_“I told you I’m not a charity case!”_

_“It wasn’t charity! It was an investment! And I didn’t put in that much!”_

_“An investment? Then why didn’t you tell me?”_

_“Would you have let me do it?”_

_“No!”_

_“Then there you go!”_

_“You lied to me!”_

_“Yes. Yeah, I did, and I’m sorry, but do you know how fucking stubborn you are sometimes?”_

_“I’m aware, but that doesn’t change the fact that if you’re investing money in my business—”_

_“I wasn’t investing in your business; I was investing in you! Because you’ve worked so hard and you deserved this! Baby, I believe in you and I wanna give you everything.”_

_“Oh, don’t call me baby and expect to get off the hook.”_

They’d looked at each other and laughed then, because it was too late and it was done with good intent and yeah, they both knew that Castiel would let Dean off the hook eventually, after a lot of squirming and groveling. When they were clear-headed, they talked it out. Castiel explained that he wished Dean hadn’t done that because he’d been having thoughts about whether he’d be able to keep the store going or even wanted to and didn’t want Dean to waste his money for naught. Dean, in turn, explained that he just wanted Castiel to be happy, so he should do whatever made him happy because if he was happy, Dean was happy, and whatever he decided, Dean was all for it. 

He forgave him, of course. 

Life has been busy in the two months since they’ve become a couple. Besides work and reveling in (and getting used to being) a couple, there’s been a change in their living situation. Dean’s no longer renting the home on the ocean, instead living in Castiel’s one bedroom rented cottage with him because his new home is being remodeled and they agreed that his money was better put toward that. The place that Debbie the realtor found him overlooks the ocean and has its own private, sandy beach and an expanse of lawn that’s ideal for gatherings and “for Matthew to play around on without getting shells in his knees.” It’s absolutely perfect. Bobby’s crew is working on it now and expects it to be done by October. They still go there to enjoy it, though—Dean’s beach and his lawn and his rooftop deck with panoramic views and his built-in pool. Castiel has enjoyed having some input—lots of input, since Dean proclaims he’s “no good at these things.” He’s excited to spend as much time there with Dean as Dean chooses. And though he doesn’t want to assume, he certainly hopes that when it’s done, Dean will want them to live with him. 

Although after today, he might rethink that.

It’s a July Thursday in the middle of a heat wave, and the store’s been hopping all day long. Usually that’s not a problem, but they’ve had Matthew with them for the week since Katie’s on vacation and today is proving challenging. He’s a very active nine-month-old who does _not_ like being stuck in a playpen—he doesn’t like sitting still, period—and he isn’t afraid to say it. He seems fussier than usual, too, whether from the heat or the change in routine or some other reason. Castiel and Dean are fussier, too, exhausted from the week. So they’ve been taking turns entertaining him and snapping at each other while waiting on the mostly-tourist crowd. 

“Someone’s cranky,” Shawn, one of their hires for the ice cream stand, snarks as he passes by with a bucket of vanilla. “Not sure who’s worse, you or Dean.”

“Hey, can it, Lefty,” Dean calls over Matthew’s screaming. Shawn thinks that’s his nickname because he’s left-handed; he has no idea that they’ve been calling him Lefty in their heads ever since that night he and his “not-boyfriend” Cam came in and bought all the makings of a Valentine’s Day celebration. 

“I think I’ve seen you in here every day,” a young woman Castiel calls Cover-Up for the lacy white bathing suit cover-up she wears daily says to him. 

“That’s because I’ve been here every day,” Castiel smiles thinly. 

“Lupine Cove is a beautiful place. You should go see it,” she teases, knowing he’s a local.

“Maybe in the winter, when no one’s here,” he grins as he bags her purchases. “Until then, I leave it to you.”

“Seriously,” she whispers, leaning in. “Your husband looks like he’s about to drop. Maybe a day off as a family would be good?”

Castiel glances at Dean, who’s now making Italians while he entertains Matthew by singing and pushing his stroller back and forth with his foot. He looks like he’s in a circus act, which is exactly how their lives have felt lately. “Yeah, probably,” he acknowledges. He doesn’t bother correcting the _husband_ misnomer.

He thinks about it for hours—how much he appreciates Dean, how much Dean has sacrificed for them, how much Dean does for them without complaint, how much both he and Matthew adore him.

Not just adore. Love.

And though they haven’t said it, Castiel’s pretty sure Dean feels the same way.

Dean is chatting with a customer who’s cooing over Matthew as Matthew clings to him, not even looking her way. He tells her how he just learned to pull himself up and hates being cooped up, his voice tinged with amused sympathy even though he’s been dealing with that rather inconvenient preference of Matthew’s all day and is now going home to deal with it some more. 

Just as he’s about to escape, a few people approach him for photos, and since he’s off the clock he indulges their requests outside. Twenty minutes later, he pokes his head through the door. “See you at home, babe,” he says hurriedly, Matthew squirming in his arms. “Don’t work too hard.”

The poor man is sweating, exhausted, and going home to a tiny house with a cranky kid and without the boyfriend who hasn’t had a day off since the weekend they started dating. Castiel’s heart throbs with a sudden need to give him even a small bit of what Dean’s given him, and he can’t wait for the line of customers to go away. He has to do it now, before Dean disappears, before he goes home with their bickering and Matthew’s fussiness being the only things he remembers about this day. “Dean?”

He catches the door and sticks his head back inside. “Yeah?”

“I’ll bring home dinner, okay?”

Dean smiles. “Sounds good.” He starts to duck back out.

“And Dean?”

“Uh huh?”

“I’m going to try to take the weekend off.”

Dean smiles again, wider. “That would be awesome.”

“And hon?”

Dean pops in again, raising his brows, probably wondering how many times Castiel is going to stop him from leaving.

“I love you.”

This time, calling the stretch on Dean’s face a smile would be like calling the sun a flashlight. It’s like nothing Castiel’s ever seen. Dean comes back into the store, cuts through the line of people, rounds the counter, and crashes into his lips. Castiel can hear the _aww_ s of the customers, but all that matters to him is the man in front of him. 

“I love you, too,” Dean murmurs, his voice bubbling with feeling. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I wasn’t sure, and—”

“I know.” Castiel smiles, then pecks him on the lips and Matthew on the head. “Go home. I’ll see you later.” 

When Castiel gets home later, hands full of Chinese take-out, Dean greets him at the door, takes the bags, turns him around, and pushes him right back to Dean’s truck, which is already running and is cool inside. 

“Where are we going? And where’s Matthew?”

“To the house. And Matt’s with Ana Jo.”

When they arrive, the construction crew is gone and the house is blessedly quiet. They bring the food upstairs and sit on the rooftop deck, taking in the view and humming appreciatively over chow mein and Riesling. “Ana Jo said the Riesling would go well with Chinese,” Dean explains, and it does.

When they’re finished lingering over their meal and they’ve checked out the latest work on the house, Dean takes his hand and leads him to the beach. He’s especially affectionate tonight, earlier sitting so close to him it was difficult to eat and now kissing the hand he’s holding and shooting not-so-subtle heart-eyes his way. Castiel isn’t any more subtle, hooking their feet together earlier and now bumping into Dean constantly as they walk until he finally tugs him into a long, tired, tender kiss. They smile as they part slowly, neither in a hurry to lose their closeness. 

The evening sun makes Dean’s eyes glow. Or maybe that’s just the pure love in them. “I’m so happy, Cas,” he murmurs.

“Me too.”

Dean gently presses his lips to Castiel’s again, then says, “Can I tell you something?”

Castiel nods.

“I bought this house for you. Because of you.”

“You...you did?”

“Yeah. It’s got lots of space, it’s private, there are trees for shade, the ocean I know you love, and the lawn for get-togethers and a garden and a swingset for Matt.”

At a loss for words, Castiel stares at Dean, channeling all the love he has through his eyes.

“I know it might sound crazy, but love makes you crazy, right?”

Castiel smiles softly. “It has that effect sometimes, yes.”

Dean mirrors his smile and strokes his cheek. “Remember I told you when I took the job that I’d stay as long as you need me?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Well, I was kinda hopin’ you still needed me. Wanted me. Just like I need you. Want you. You and Matt.”

“You’re in luck, then, because you’ve made yourself not only an invaluable and indispensable employee, but an invaluable and indispensable partner.”

Cradling his face with one strong, smooth hand, Dean asks, “Share this house with me? Be with me, you and Matt?”

“Yes.”

Dean draws him into an intoxicating kiss, making him feel lighter and dopier than the wine did. He kisses back eagerly, all the pettiness and inconveniences of the day washing away in this incredible moment, a moment that he’s still awed to have. 

They sink to the sand, still kissing as Dean climbs into Castiel’s lap. There, they make out languidly but keep it tame, aware that the beach isn’t completely theirs—there are a couple of other houses that have a right-of-way and their occupants could come by at any time. Still, Dean is delicious, and Castiel sips him, savors him, holds him on his tongue. 

“Cas,” Dean whispers against his lips. Their eyes meet. “Inside?”

With a mischievous grin, he counteroffers, “How about the deck?”

They run like children, hand-in-hand, toward the house, but stop on the grass to roll around together, Castiel grinding into Dean as his sampling on the beach becomes a gluttonous feasting on every inch of Dean he can reach. They strip to nothing, both needing more of each other. No one can see them on the lawn unless someone’s out on a boat and uses binoculars—and if they're doing that, they get what they get. 

They have several beds to choose from inside the house, and even the cushions of the sofa on the deck would probably be more forgiving than the ground, but neither of them move from where they’re tangled in each other. Castiel _has_ to have him, has to touch and taste him, craving him like no other. He shifts away from him, sitting on his knees briefly to appreciate the dish before him, then engulfs Dean’s cock in one long swallow.

“Fuck, Cas!” Dean shouts, gripping his hair and pushing up. He loves it when Dean both accepts and takes, losing himself in the feeling of being cared for. Castiel relaxes his throat to take him deeper, adoring the way it fills him up, every way it fills him, every time. Dean thrusts, mewling each time he swallows around him, until he taps him on the head. Castiel looks up, cock still stuffed in his mouth. 

“Baby, I wanna taste you.”

Castiel straddles Dean’s waist, kissing him filthily and thrusting his cock alongside Dean’s, who’s meeting him frantically. They turn to their sides, devouring each other, until Dean rips himself away for air. Castiel can see Dean’s determined eyes float to his cock, and _oh_ does he want what Dean wants, but he still wants to taste Dean, too, so he pushes him back and flips around. They groan simultaneously as their mouths work each other’s cocks, breaths heavy. Wanting to make it extra good for Dean, given everything about their day, Castiel takes a moment to suck his finger into his mouth, then envelops his cock once again as he presses his digit into Dean’s hole.

“Ca-Caaaas, fuck, babe.”

He can’t help but chuckle at Dean’s distraction, but soon finds himself moaning just as desperately when Dean graces him with the same favor. 

Rocking back and forth, the heat builds in Castiel’s groin and he knows he’s not going to last much longer...but the need to taste Dean’s release gnaws at him. With his free hand, he yanks Dean’s asscheek, serving to both bring him deeper into his throat and to open his hole a little wider. Both do the trick, because Dean screams and floods his throat. Castiel pulls back so he can taste it as he flicks his head with his tongue. Dean shudders, his mouth relaxing as he gasps for air. Castiel lies there and closes his eyes with a satisfied smile—and is totally caught by surprise when Dean’s mouth is back on him with a vengeance, his head bobbing, one hand two fingers into his ass now and the other holding his hip, caressing the bone with his thumb. The mix of Dean’s obvious pleasure, his tenderness, and the way he uses his knowledge of Castiel’s body to his utmost advantage have Castiel crying out unintelligible words until his body rests, spent.

He opens his eyes to Dean smiling at him, almost shyly. He used to be terrible at reading people, but he’s getting better with Dean. He’s proud of himself, though he feels undeserving, and he’s utterly content. “I love you,” Castiel whispers.

“I love you, sunshine.” 

They stand and collect their clothes, then clasp hands as they head into the house. Their house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at them, so happy! 🥰


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And still more NSFW. Damn, guys. 😂

While there may be disadvantages to a family business, there are certain advantages, too. 

Everyone is invested in the outcome.

Everyone is willing to help.

Everyone trusts each other.

And if your family includes your partner, you get sexual favors in the back room.

Rainy days in the middle of the week mean less traffic in the store, even during tourist season. Patience will still be in at 11:00, but right now, it’s 9:30 and pouring outside. The store is dead. Castiel is in the back, opening boxes of sparklers and cheap pairs of colorful sunglasses for Lupine Cove’s annual Spark Summer Festival happening the weekend after next. That and their June festival, Lupine Days, are extremely busy times for Lupine Cove Market and Deli, especially now that they have the ice cream stand. Once he realized how much Dean loved him and was invested in him and the store and the town, Castiel finally relented and admitted that he was glad that Dean had it built. 

The sex Dean treated him to after that admission was spectacular. He was grateful that they’d moved their bed to the living room after their love declarations and their incredible evening at their house. Like Dean said, love makes you do crazy things, and yeah, it’s a little crazy for two grown men to have their bed in the living room, but if that’s the only way they can get privacy, then to hell with it. It’s temporary, anyway, and it’s good to get Matthew used to sleeping in his own space.

The door opens behind Castiel. He pays it no mind, figuring Dean is bored and came to either help him or distract him. 

When Dean presses his hard body against his back, he gets his answer.

“Dean,” Castiel starts, thinking that he’s just goofing around. “You’re not helping.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sunshine,” he purrs in his ear. Dean trails kisses along his neck. “I’m going to help you out soooo good.”

“Mmm, we can’t.” His tone is reluctant, though, and he knows Dean can hear his true opinion on the matter loud and clear.

“Don’t worry, boss.” Dean bites on his earlobe, sending shivers through his body. “You leave it all to me.”

Dean pushes him against a wall, nipping at his neck as he unfastens his woven nylon belt and army green cargo shorts. He keeps his shirt on but slips his hands underneath to thumb at his nipples, which peak to meet him. “You drive me crazy, boss,” he rasps in Castiel’s ear.

Castiel moans, and any fight he had in him (which wasn’t a lot) disappears. 

His boyfriend pushes his shorts off his waist, then lines up his clothed, half-hard cock against Castiel’s less-clothed, rapidly-hardening one and rolls his hips. Castiel grips his sides, encouraging him to do it again, which he does repeatedly. 

“This okay, boss?” Dean whispers against the stubble on his jaw.

“As if I could say no to you.”

Dean pauses, holding his face gently in his palm. “You can, you know. If you’re uncomfortable. I just thought—”

Castiel huffs, though he’s thankful for Dean’s conscientiousness. “Let me rephrase. As if I _want_ to say no to you.”

Chuckling, Dean says, “Okay, just wanted to be sure.”

“Less talk, more cock.”

He doesn’t know where that came from, but it sends them both giggling against each other’s shoulders. “Yes, sir,” Dean replies, sucking a kiss behind his ear before tugging his orange boxer briefs down. 

Dean works his cock with his hand and then his mouth, but it’s not enough for Castiel, who aches to have more of Dean’s body on his. “Babe, you need to get off, too,” he pants.

Popping off briefly, Dean says, “Shouldn’t risk it, sunshine.” 

A devilish thought pops into his mind. If Dean wants to be a brat, Castiel can be, too. He lifts Dean’s chin until their eyes meet. “Excuse me, but who’s the boss here?” he asks, voice pitched even lower than his usual dark timbre. 

Dean gulps.

“Get some lube from the front of the store.”

He’s never seen Dean move so fast. He watches on the security monitors as Dean races to the front, checks around, then grabs the lube and dashes back to him. Castiel laughs as Dean bursts through the door. 

“Motivated, were you?”

“Damn right.”

Laughing again, Castiel tugs him close. “Now,” he says, forcing himself to be serious and sultry (whether he pulls off the second one, he’s not sure), “you blow me while you jack off. When you’re close, turn me around and fuck between my legs until you come. Got that?”

Dean licks and bites his lip. “Yes, _sir_.”

“As you were.”

Castiel has always been more dominant in the bedroom (or back room, in this case) than anywhere else in his personal or professional life. Maybe it’s the hormones, or maybe, in the past, the fear that he wouldn’t get any again for a while (so he’d better get what he wants), or maybe it’s the confidence of knowing, at least in the moment, that he’s wanted. Whatever it is, he enjoys it, and though they often switch off power-wise (and other ways), Dean seems to particularly like it when he gets bossy.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to pull off and turn him roughly. Castiel leans against the wall and makes a tight channel with his legs for Dean to slide through. Dean groans, grabbing Castiel’s hip with one hand and his cock with the other, then jacking him in time to his thrusts. When Dean comes with a stuttered howl, Castiel catches some of the milky mess in his hands and shoos Dean’s hand away.

Castiel turns and meets Dean’s confused look with a smirk and a pointed look down. Dean moans a breathless half-curse. Hands on either side of his head now, Dean watches for a minute as Castiel uses Dean’s come to jerk himself off, then begins pressing his lips against Castiel’s collarbone. Close, _so_ close, Castiel’s eyelids start to flutter closed in pleasure—until he notices movement on the security monitor. “Fuck!”

“What?” 

“Somebody’s—fuck, someone’s here!” He hurries to dress, but Dean stops him. 

“Don’t you dare,” Dean rasps. “They can wait.”

“Dean—”

Dean starts pumping his cock. “They can _wait_.”

His boyfriend has much too much power to sway him, and soon he’s helping him, his hand on Dean’s. “Yeah, that’s it, baby, want you to come, sweetheart. Want you to come while people are just outside the door. You like being bad, don’t you, boss?”

Castiel feels his orgasm race through his blood, through his pores, out his cock, slamming him around and throwing him onto the shore, worn and dizzy. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, honey.” He pecks his lips. “You stay here. I got the front.” 

Dean does a quick cleanup with baby wipes from Castiel’s desk, then heads to the front of the store. 

Castiel takes a minute to catch his breath, then does a cleanup of his own and carries the cardboard display for the sparklers to the front to set up. He rolls his eyes at who’s at the counter—Tristan, a tourist who’s here for the month of August, as he tells it (repeatedly). He’s renting the house that Dean rented, so clearly he has money. Too bad an excess of riches doesn’t lead to an excess of loving kindness.

He doesn’t seem to know who Dean is, and they never felt inclined to tell him, nor to tell him that he rented the house. Not until now, anyway.

Castiel can hear him going on to Dean about “those people” holding hands “in public for all of us to see”—those people being same-gender couples. Dean glances up at Castiel and quirks his brow. Still feeling loose and daring and not giving a shit that he might lose a customer, Castiel purses his lips playfully and nods.

“You probably don’t get those sorts where you’re living right now, huh?” Dean asks innocently. “Real quiet up there. Heard there was even some celebrity living in that place earlier this year.”

“I did hear that, yes. Building a house nearby, I believe.”

It wasn’t that close, but they weren't going to enlighten him. “That’s what I heard. You happen to know who he is? You should know your neighbors, right?”

“No, but I haven’t heard a negative thing about him. I’m sure he’s quite fine.”

“Oh, he’s quite fine,” Castiel can’t help but say as he steps behind the counter. He shuffles by Dean to lean against the shelf. “Dean Winchester is his name.”

“Ah. I’ll have to look him up, say hello.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean agrees. “Look him up. He’s a family guy, I hear.”

“Oh, good. That’s very good.”

“Yeah.” Dean turns his head toward Castiel. “Did I leave that on you a few minutes ago? When we were fooling around out back?” He points to a spot behind his ear. 

Castiel, uncertain if there’s actually anything there, plays along and covers it up with his hand. “Probably,” he chuckles as Tristan pales. 

“Yeah, sorry, had to rush up here. I cleaned up, though, don’t worry,” Dean addresses their customer. “I’m sorry, I should introduce myself properly, since you’re gonna be here a month.” He beckons Castiel over and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I’m Dean, the celebrity who lived in the house you’re renting. This is Cas, my boyfriend. We had sex all over that house, including the master with the French doors and all the windows. Nice place, but not our style. Now the guy I love and I are remodeling a beautiful place right on the ocean for us and our son. Howdy, neighbor.”

Tristan backs away slowly, then hurries out the door and into the deluge outside.

“Jackass,” Dean says, watching him leave, but Castiel is too overcome by hearing _our son_ to be concerned about one small-minded man. Dean’s brain must catch up, because when he turns to face Castiel, he’s rubbing his mouth as if he’s afraid he said something wrong. Castiel beams a bright, happy smile his way, telling him he most certainly did not say something wrong, and Dean’s hand drops, returning the smile just as brightly. “That was okay to say? About Matt?” he asks.

That grain of doubt that he really gets to have everything he wants makes Castiel reply, “If you meant it.”

Dean slinks his hands onto Castiel’s waist. “I did.”

They fall into each other’s embrace. As he holds Dean, Castiel counts his blessings. He has a child, something he didn’t know he wanted but could never, ever imagine life without. He has a partner, a man who wants him for who he is, who loves him with all he has and shows him every day, who loves his child as his own. He has his business, which is thriving as much as a small business in a coastal town can. Maybe he’ll keep it, or maybe he’ll tackle something new someday, but for now it’s his. He has his family, his friends. He has a home. He has Lupine Cove. 

He has everything he’s ever truly wanted.

Everything is perfect.

* * *

Castiel has just finished filling an order of twenty Italians and eight pizzas for some folks that are clearly having a picnic on the beach or something akin to it. It’s a busier Saturday than usual; they’ve been nearly nonstop since the Spark Festival started yesterday.

Alex pulls him aside. “Some guy wants to talk to you.”

“Okay. Switch, please?”

She starts working on an order of fries while Castiel approaches a man in a suit. “May I help you?”

“You can, Mr. Novak.” The man has some sort of accent—British, maybe?—and gives off a smarmy, sexualized vibe that even Castiel notices. “I’d like to offer you a deal.”

Castiel arches a brow. “For the store? It’s not for sale right now.”

“No, not for _this._ ” He throws his hand around and sneers. “For you to stay away from Dean Winchester.”

“Excuse me? Stay away? He’s my boyfriend.”

“Yes, and my client would like that arrangement to end, so he’s prepared to offer you a substantial amount of money to make that happen.”

_His client? Who the hell...oh._

Castiel squares his shoulders and looks down his nose at the man. “Tell your client that Dean is an adult and can make his own decisions. No deal. Goodbye, and don’t come back.”

He doesn’t tell Dean about the strange encounter.

On Sunday, Castiel is sweating and grateful for the day off. 

He’s packing a bunch of things to bring to the house—everything they need for a barbeque, plus a cooler of ice since the new kitchen appliances haven’t arrived yet. The troops will arrive later, likely sun-worn from the Spark Festival and ready to swim and eat. Castiel didn’t feel like going—he’s experienced plenty of Lupine Cove’s festivals, thanks, and he wasn’t going to squander his day off by going to another one. 

He looks around. The cottage is a mess, but that’s to be expected. The space is simply too small, and with all of the hours they’re working at the store, they just haven’t had the energy to clean beyond picking up anything that Matthew could choke on. Castiel’s been working hard to let that go, his neat freak tendencies being tested. 

A knock at the door breaks his stride toward the bathroom to fetch the sunscreen. He changes course and answers the door. 

It’s the British guy again, this time with another guy with a graying beard and eyes that look like they’d be saggy if not for Botox. 

“What did I tell you?” Castiel addresses the Brit.

“My name is John Winchester,” the other man says, as if Castiel hadn’t already guessed. 

“Charmed. I’m Castiel, but I’m sure you know that. This isn’t how I hoped to meet you, frankly.”

John grunts. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“I could’ve saved you a trip. No deal,” Castiel snipes.

“Just hear me out, please.”

Only because the man is his boyfriend’s father, Castiel opens the door and admits them. He sees the distaste on both the men’s faces as they look around. It’s not up to their standard, clearly. They sit at the kitchen table. 

“Castiel, listen. This isn’t Dean. I don’t know how well you know him—”

“Quite well, thanks.”

“You think you do, but you’ve only known each other for a few months. Dean, he’s...flighty. A wanderer. He’s not going to stay. I’ve seen it.”

“Is that so?”

“Dean likes to have a good time. And don’t get me wrong, he’s a great kid, but he’s not the ‘settle down’ type. He’s always searching for more, always thinking what he wants will be the next thing. It’s why he’s been mostly absent in the family businesses, and why he’s done so many TV shows but never landed anything serious. It’s why he never stuck with one girl, and hell, I’ve never even seen him with a man before. It’s why he took off on this stupid stunt to begin with. He thought the grass was greener somewhere else.”

Castiel folds his arms. “So, from what I’ve gathered so far, his life for the past seven months has been one big...what? Whim?”

“Essentially.”

“I don’t believe that, nor do I believe that he’s not the ‘settle down’ type. I think he wasn’t allowed to settle down, and thus, he didn’t. Here, he’s found himself something he wants, a life for himself that he loves. He wants to settle down here.”

“Well, he’s certainly _settling_...at a rather low standard,” British guy mumbles as his eyes dart around the space. Castiel decides not to tell either of them about the new house.

“He’s settling down with me and our son, helping me in my business...which he’s _brilliant at_ , by the way,” Castiel can’t help but say. “He’s happy.”

John smiles at him as if he’s a soaked cat in the alley, a pathetic little thing who doesn’t know when to get out of the rain. “It won’t last. You shouldn’t put your faith in him like that. For your sake and the sake of your son, let him go before he hurts you both.”

Ire boils in his blood. “No,” he spits. 

“I’m just looking out for all of you.”

Castiel’s hand alights on his phone. He wants to throw it at John’s head. Instead, he calls Dean and places it on speaker.

“Hey babe!” Dean shouts. There’s street music playing in the background.

“Hey hon. How’s it going?”

“Great! Wish you had come. This is a ton of fun!”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. How’s our son?”

He can hear Dean’s smile when he replies, “Awesome. He’s loving the music and dancing.”

“Of course he is.”

“Yeah, he’s—holy shit, what is that? Pow-teen? Tine?”

Castiel snickers. “Poutine?”

“Yeah! Fries, gravy, cheese...dude, is this a Maine thing?”

“It’s a Canadian thing that they generously shared with us.”

“Damn. We’re going to that truck, Sammy,” he hears Dean tell his brother. 

“Don’t eat too much. We have a ton of food for later.”

“Yes, dear.” 

A squeaky kiss rings over the line. Castiel chuckles.

“Okay. Enjoy your poutine. See you later on.”

“’Kay. Love you.”

“Love you. Bye.”

Castiel hangs up and looks at John, whose face is somber. “He’s happy. Here. With me. I know that's hard to believe. You’ve probably unearthed everything you can about me and found out I’m the most boring guy on Earth—grew up in the same podunk town I still live in at thirty-six, got a little business that gets me by, never been beyond Boston, live in a tiny rental. I’m not Hollywood, I’m not money. But he loves me and our son. You heard him. Don’t you care that your son is happy?”

John softens, just a little. Truthfully, Castiel didn’t have a lot of hope that hearing Dean would move him at all. Castiel just needed to hear his voice. But maybe…

“Yes, I want him to be happy. But he needs to understand that he has responsibilities back home. It’s time to stop being childish, to stop playing house and get back to where he belongs. And you can help him do that, Castiel. You can take this generous offer I’m prepared to give you. You won’t have to worry about money for a long time. By doing this, you can help him be who he needs to be. He needs to be in the family businesses. It’s where he belongs.” 

“He can still be part of the family businesses; I have no problem with that. He _wants_ to be involved with the family businesses, and he has great ideas about how to—”

“He has a role in the companies, and he’s not even doing that. How am I supposed to humor his ‘great ideas’ when he can’t even do what he’s supposed to be doing?”

Castiel grits his teeth and clenches his hands. “He’s more than the party boy spokesmodel you’re trying to make him be. For God’s sake, he’s a family man. He doesn’t want that image anymore. He never did!”

John scowls. “I don’t know what he told you—”

“The point is, he’s an adult, with a family and an MBA, and he just wants to do a good job in everything he does. He knows how important the family businesses are. He knows how important family is. They don’t have to be separate things, one or the other. I have a family business, too, and Dean and I have been working it quite nicely together while we fashion our family for ourselves.”

Folding his arms and crossing his legs, John leans back in his chair and says, “Well, seems he already has a family business to be a part of, then. Guess he doesn’t need ours.”

 _Oh. Oh no._ Perhaps he pushed it too far. He didn’t mean for Dean to be cut off from his family’s businesses. That would break his heart. His palms begin to sweat. “No, I’m not saying to cut him off. I’m saying—”

“No, wouldn’t want your sugar daddy to be cut off from the family fortune, would you?” the attorney or whatever he is pipes up. “Dean isn’t nearly as appealing without his money, is he?”

White hot anger surges through his veins. He forgets to be polite, nervous, conciliatory, any of it. He stands and points at the door. “Get the fuck out of my house!” he screams. 

“It’s what’s gonna happen,” John threatens. “He stays here with you, he loses it all. No more money, no more jobs, no more access to all the benefits of the family businesses, no more connections made on his behalf. But you can make sure he doesn’t lose those. If you love him, you’ll do what’s best for him.”

For a moment, his self-doubt creeps in. Dean probably will leave him eventually, move on to something bigger and better than a boring, small-town hick with a kid and debt. But then he shakes his head. He knows better. He has faith in Dean.

“Then I’ll let him know you were here and _he_ can decide what’s best for him. Leave.”

They go, and Castiel takes several shaky breaths. He has to tell Dean and pray that his perfect life doesn’t come crashing in on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, why’s he gotta be an ass and ruin Castiel’s good time?
> 
> Also, a big thank you to Canada for poutine. 😘


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, these guys just won’t quit. A little stress-relieving NSFW action ahead. (And, you know, plot things, too.)

Dean is pacing.

He’s been pacing for twenty minutes.

He paced on the deck for a few minutes, then on the lawn, then on the beach, then made his way back to Castiel and paced on the deck some more.

Castiel feels terrible about it, but he knows, logically, it’s not his fault Dean’s upset. He was just the messenger.

After his encounter with Dean’s dad and whoever the other guy was, Castiel put on a happy face and went to the house. His fake happiness gradually became genuine, especially once Dean and Matthew came home. They got busy cooking and socializing with their guests, and between eating, laughing at Gabe and Sam’s antics, and cozying up to Dean, he almost forgot about Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber. 

But he didn’t, and after everyone left and Matthew was asleep in the crib from Dean’s place (something Dean bought, apparently, not something that came with the rental), Castiel ripped the bandage off and told him about his father’s visit.

Seems like he ripped the scab right along with it.

“Murder is illegal, Dean,” Castiel says, trying to help by using humor, Dean’s usual coping mechanism. 

“How dare he. How fucking dare he.”

They’re the only words he’s uttered since Castiel told him, repeating them every so often as he pivots on his heel. 

_I know, Dean,_ Castiel has repeated each time (at least when he’s been in earshot). “I know, Dean,” he says now.

“You know what the worst part is?”

 _Oh, new words._ “What?”

“That he—” he balls his hands into fists and clenches his teeth. “Arrgh, I’m so _pissed_.”

Castiel is certain he’s never seen Dean so angry, not even when those reporters came around. “I know.”

“You know what the worst part is? The worst part is that he went to you and not me. How fucking dare he.”

“I know, Dean. He should’ve respected you enough to go to you directly and talk to you if he had concerns.”

For the first time in a while, Dean stops pacing and looks at him. “No. I mean, yeah, but no. The worst part is that he involved you in any of this. He sent his lackey to bribe you, then showed his cowardly face at _our_ home when he _knew_ I wasn’t around and tried to bully you.”

“I can take care of myself, hon.”

“I know that, babe, but that’s not the point. He went after someone I love. And what if Matt had been home with you? Would he have pulled that shit and stressed him out? I would’ve fucking killed him.” He resumes his pacing.

Castiel stands and cups Dean’s hips in his hands, stopping his movements. “Dean. I’m fine, Matthew’s fine. I think all the things he said about you and the things he expects from you are much worse.”

“Well, I don’t,” Dean grumbles, sliding his arms around Castiel’s shoulders in an embrace. Nuzzling Castiel’s neck, he continues, “Don’t care about me. Any threat toward you is way worse.”

“I don’t agree, but let’s agree that both were shitty, huh?” 

Dean nods. “Can we stay here tonight? I know I’m gonna rip his head off if he shows up at the cottage.”

Oh, Castiel knows. He had to caution him against calling his father when he first told him, not wanting Dean’s anger to lead him into saying something he’d regret. That was when the pacing began.

“Sure, we can stay here.”

Castiel leads him by the hand to their luxurious king bed in their spacious master bedroom, something that Castiel had only ever dreamed of having. He undresses him, then himself, then they slip under the covers. They skip their usual nighttime rituals in favor of holding each other, pressing lips and hands tenderly, until the unpleasantness fades into the background and they fall asleep. 

The alarm rudely announces the new day. “Ugh,” Dean moans. He sounds as if he’s waking from a hangover, and Castiel is fairly certain he didn’t drink enough yesterday for that. 

“You want the day off, hon?”

“Hell no,” he grumbles, though he’s not exactly full of get-up-and-go. “Got a job to do.”

Castiel kisses him and gets up to tend to Matthew.

Since they started their morning at the new house and hadn’t planned to, Castiel leaves Dean to get Matthew ready for the day and take him to daycare while Castiel goes to the store. When Dean shows up just after 7:30, Castiel and Ana Jo greet him with smiles. Ana Jo hands him her coffee. 

“You clearly need this more than me,” she teases lightly, though there’s concern in her eyes.

“Thanks.” He takes the coffee without argument and swallows several sips. He wipes a hand across his eyes. They’re red, irritated. “Cas tell you my father showed up?”

Ana Jo grimaces. “He mentioned it just now, yeah. Explains why Cas seemed out of sorts yesterday. You okay?”

Another customer approaches behind the redhead, so she moves over to continue her conversation with Dean. Castiel tries to catch what they’re saying, just to know for himself how Dean is doing, but he hears nothing. Just as well, he supposes—the whole store doesn’t need to know Dean’s business. He’ll ask him later.

When Ana Jo is ready to go, she kisses Dean on the cheek, then does the same to Castiel and whispers, “You have a great guy there, babe.” She pats his cheek and leaves. He glances at Dean, who’s now chatting with Benny and Mr. Colton, the now-retired, longtime fire chief in Lupine Cove, and his heart swells with love and protectiveness. He will do whatever it takes to make sure Dean has the life he wants.

His resolve is strengthened when Dean shows him a story about his supposed affair with a buxom Lupine Cove resident in the tabloids that evening. 

“He won’t fucking quit,” Dean grumbles, tossing his phone aside. 

“Well, I don’t believe it, and the people who know you don’t believe it, either.”

“I don’t give a shit about anyone else, but you...fuck, if he does this enough...I don’t want you believing this, ever, and—”

“I won’t.” Castiel kisses him, sweet and lingering. “I won’t.”

“It’s all a game to him, but you know what? I’m tired of letting him win,” he announces. Matthew is playing on the ground; Dean is tickling his nose with clovers he’s picking from the lawn. He looks up at Castiel, his green eyes so much greener with the grass reflected in them. “You mind being in the news again?”

“I’ve accepted it as part of the deal,” he smirks affectionately. “Why?”

“I’m calling Bela Talbot. He wants to play games? We’re gonna play.”

* * *

Bela Talbot is a dangerous woman, Castiel suspects. At least if she's not on your side.

Luckily, she’s on their side. 

And when Dean’s story comes out, written by Bela and blasted to every media source possible, the responses are swift and strong.

There are a few who think Dean is a liar, a whiner, and a few other choice, hateful words.

Most think he’s been done wrong and deserves his happiness, to be with Castiel and Matthew in peace, to take a full role at the family businesses, to be left alone by his father. 

And then there’s one interesting response, one that has Dean fretting.

“My great uncle wants to talk to me.”

Castiel waits. His great uncle, Abraham Campbell, is the owner and CEO of both Winchester Resorts and Winchester Liquors. The way Dean tells it, the family businesses were started by Abraham and Dean’s grandfather, Samuel Campbell. Originally known as Campbell Liquors and Campbell Resorts, the names changed sometime after Dean’s birth, though Dean doesn’t know why. 

“He wants me to come out to L.A. and meet up with him.”

“What do you want to do?”

“What, do I have a choice?”

“Of course you have a choice.”

Dean nods in realization, like he forgot he could choose. “I’m gonna go. I imagine he wants to take my head off in person.”

“Do you really think he’ll do that? For telling the truth?”

“I dunno. He’s a good guy but, you know, faith in humanity, man. Still workin’ on it.”

“Mmm. When are you going?”

“Monday.”

Monday. Today is Friday.

When Dean leaves to get Matthew and head home, Castiel messages his Trusty Rusties:

_Cas: Dean has to go talk to his great uncle on Monday in LA._

_Anna: Why?_

_Cas: He’s the owner of the family businesses._

_Anna: OH._

_Charlie: Is he gonna get reamed?_

_Cas: He thinks so_

_Ana Jo: Poor Dean. Getting his ass chewed because he told the truth._

_Cas: I think I'm gonna go with him._

_Anna: !!!!!_

_Ana Jo: Yes, you def should_

_Charlie: Yay Cas!_

_Cas: I have the store, but as long as I can make arrangements, I think I need to be there for Dean. I’ll bring Matthew._

_Charlie: That will mean the world to him, it really will._

_Cas: I know, which is why I’m going to put these last-minute flights on my credit card. Ouch. But some things are more important than money. I’ll figure it out. As far as the store, if I can’t find anyone, I’ll run it on the hours I can cover and that’s that._

_Anna: You guys are so in love. Gross. XO_

_Ana Jo: Don’t be a bitter old bitch. XD_

_Anna: No bitterness here. This fine ass isn’t settling down any time soon. xx_

_Ana Jo: Girl, you’re a queen and you should live it xx_

_Charlie: I love everyone in this bar_

Castiel laughs.

_Ana Jo: Cas, I’ll take Matthew._

_Cas: Are you sure, Ana?_

_Ana Jo: Sure. You’re only going to be gone for a couple of days. Besides, it’ll be good practice for me._

_Cas: ????_

_Anna: what_

_Charlie: !!!!_

_Ana Jo: I’m pregnant!_

The group chat erupts in cheers and questions. Ana Jo has wanted to be a mom for some time now, but it’s difficult when your husband is gone more often than not. He came home for a visit a couple of months back, though, and they decided that he was going to finish out his work overseas and come home for good. Sounds like he’ll have an extra reason now. 

Castiel confirms that Ana Jo is feeling okay to take on Matthew. After that, he exits from their chat with a final _love you all_ and texts Dean for his flight information. Then, he buys a ticket right next to him each way. _No backing out now._ From there, he texts his employees, carefully leaving Dean out of the chat, and explains the situation. His employees, amazing people that they are, jump right in to help, just like family. He thinks that he’s going to have to close his store early one of these days and have everyone over for an employee appreciation pool party and barbeque. Once that’s done, he texts his dad and brother, who agree to stop by the store to make sure everyone’s okay. With that, he helps some customers, then makes his plans in his mind. _  
_

* * *

“I still can’t believe you’re actually here with me!” Dean bursts, excited to have Castiel by his side (and to be off the plane, probably).

“Me neither. I can’t wait to try this In-N-Out you love so much.”

“You know why I love In-N-Out so much, right?” 

Castiel side-eyes him. “I know why _I_ love it so much,” he leers, both surprising his boyfriend and thwarting his attempt at innuendo with his own innuendo. “Why do _you_ love it so much?”

Dean laughs and slings his arm around him. “Because it’s with you, baby,” he purrs, his heated look sending a thrill down Castiel’s spine. They kiss in the middle of the airport as they wait for their rental car. There’s a small gathering around them, but Castiel couldn’t care less about it. He’s happy, Dean’s happy, and they’re going to spend time together, alone, in an exciting place he’s never been to before. 

Though he doesn’t really care about the place, truth be told. Being with Dean is all the excitement he needs.

They stop at In-N-Out for a couple of Double-Double combos, then drive to Dean’s house, which has furniture but is empty of his personal effects since he sent for those last month. The collection of cars is gone, too, sold because they reminded him of someone he didn’t want to be anymore. The only car he still has other than his Cherokee is Baby, who’s sitting in Sam’s garage, finally back to herself after a lengthy repair time. Dean hadn't wanted anything to happen to her during the work at their house, and the cottage doesn’t have a garage, so he parked her there. 

“This is a gorgeous place, Dean,” Castiel tells him.

“Yeah. Not really for me, though. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.” He shrugs as he pops an enzyme pill, then slurps on a vanilla shake. 

Dean has promised to take him to his favorite haunts tomorrow before the meeting, so for now, Castiel takes in the views of West Hollywood from Dean’s balcony. Dean, it seems, is taking in a different view altogether. “What?” Castiel asks when he spies Dean’s dreamy countenance.

“I love you, that’s all. Thank you for being here with me.”

Castiel smiles and takes his hand. 

* * *

The night was rough. 

They went to bed early, both exhausted from their flight and the time change, but it didn’t seem to help. 

Now Castiel stares at the ceiling at 3:30 in the morning, knowing Dean is doing the same. He can feel the tension rolling off him. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, though he’s fairly certain he knows.

“Tomorrow. Well, today. Afraid I’m gonna make a fool of myself at the board meeting.” It turned out that not only did Dean’s great uncle want to meet with him, but he also wanted to have a special, combined board meeting for Winchester Liquors and Winchester Resorts. 

“You won’t. You’re so wonderful, Dean. People love you. You just march in there like a boss.”

“‘Like a boss’...I think you’re hanging out with Jack too much,” Dean snickers.

“Maybe, but I didn’t mean it in the slang sense. I meant go in there confident, in charge. I know you’re not in charge of them, but you’re in charge of you and your truth, right?”

“Yeah. Don’t feel much like a boss, though.”

At that, Castiel gets a wicked idea that he hopes will both give Dean a boost of confidence and help him blow off some steam. “Would you go get some doughnuts for us?”

“At this hour?”

“You told me there’s a twenty-four hour doughnut place nearby.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Please? It’s not like we’re going to get back to sleep. We’re on East Coast time, and it’s already 6:30 there.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

Dean goes, and Castiel springs into action.

When he returns, Castiel is perched at the desk in his bedroom, wearing Dean’s tie and nothing else. He looks up at Dean and hands him a coffee cup filled with water and a piece of copy paper he found in the desk. “Here, sir. I wrote up your schedule like you wanted me to, and I made your coffee. Hope I got it all right, boss.” He flutters his lashes and presses his lips together, feeling utterly ridiculous. Given how disastrous his flirting game is, he’s sure his attempt to play “flirty secretary to the CEO” looks more like “desperate dork,” but he’ll embarrass himself if it’ll make Dean feel better. He knows the depths of his embarrassment will only sink lower once Dean reads the schedule he “accidentally” gave him.

“Coffee at seven, Zoom call with investors at eight, and at nine o’clock, fuck your secretary until he screams?” Dean’s eyes lift from the paper, lit with amusement.

“Oh, no, you weren’t supposed to see that!” Castiel says with a put-on gasp. He feels his face flush crimson at his terrible acting and cheesy idea. He steams ahead anyway, quickly switching the paper in Dean’s hand for the “real” schedule. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

“Oh, Castiel,” Dean murmurs, shaking his head and tsking, the corners of his mouth turned up. 

Castiel is relieved that he’s playing along, and more than a little turned on by his boyfriend’s use of his full name. “Are you going to discipline me, sir?”

He hears Dean swallow. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just keep that nine o’clock appointment.”

Castiel rises. He licks, then bites his lip. “Please, sir,” he whispers. “Please fuck me.”

Dean growls as he grips Castiel’s hips. The kiss he tugs him into is hot and dominating, his man’s love poured into it but also his fear, his frustration, his trust. 

Castiel feels him out, trying to sense exactly what he needs so he can give it to him. He wants him to be taken care of, yet to feel he’s in control. He drops to his knees and sucks his cock, encouraging him to fuck his mouth with his fingers wound in his hair. He tongues his balls as he strokes his own cock. He grabs the lube and coats his fingers, determined to open himself up so that Dean can just dive right in, though doing it himself is something he doesn’t particularly enjoy.

“Hey,” Dean says, bending down and stopping him. “You don’t have to do that.”

”Yes, I do, boss. I wanna be good for you.”

“You are good for me.”

“But the schedule. I shouldn’t have done that at work. It was inappropriate. I have to make up for it.”

“I’d rather work it out together,” Dean smiles softly, slowly loosening the tie and pulling it over Castiel’s head. Even softer, he adds, “I don’t wanna be that kind of boss.” 

Of course he doesn’t. He’s not a power-hungry, punitive hardass. He’s a helper. With the kids at the store, he’s kind, cooperative, a teacher. And in this meeting today—assuming he gets to talk at all—he knows Dean doesn’t want to go in and bark at people. He just wants his side heard, and he wants them to hear his. Cooperative. Helpful. Understanding. Working together.

“Show me then, boss,” he rasps, wiping the lube onto Dean’s digits. “Let’s work on this together.”

“In my private office,” Dean purrs, leading him to the bed.

Dean lies Castiel on the bed, then slowly strokes his walls while kissing him, lavishing him with attention and tenderness. When neither of them can bear the heat any longer, Castiel turns onto his hands and knees. Dean pushes into him in one long thrust. They grunt and moan with shared pleasure. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean pants. 

“Please, boss. Please fuck me. I need you.”

Dean thrusts into him over and over, hard and fast and so, so good. “Don’t think our meeting is working,” Castiel gasps. “I feel...no...remorse, _ohhhh_...for what I did.”

“I think it’s working great. I’m teachin’ you to schedule this more often, not less, sweetheart. You’re gettin’ a fuckin’ raise.”

Castiel laughs, then chokes on a breath as Dean hits his prostate. He whines needily, hungrily. “Please, please, plea— _oh right there fuck!_ ”

His orgasm hits hard, come shooting onto the sheets as he shouts and shakes. Dean follows, just as hard, it seems, given his noises and the way he yanks Castiel onto his cock and the fingertips pressing into his hips. 

“Fuck,” his boyfriend gasps when he’s finished. “Cas, fuck, baby. Love you.” He pulls out and wraps his arms around Castiel, rolling them onto their sides. 

“Love you, babe,” Castiel returns, hugging the arms encircling him. 

“Thank you,” Dean whispers against the nape of his neck.

“You’re gonna be great. It’ll be fine, okay?”

Dean nods. “Let’s eat doughnuts.”

Castiel chuckles, and they do just that, eating sugary confections and drinking the real coffee and tea that Dean brought back as they cuddle, saving the mess (their body fluids and Dean’s meeting) to deal with later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that seemed to help Dean relax a little, lol!


	23. Chapter 23

Dean has their day packed. 

Restaurants.

Tourist attractions.

Parks.

Shopping.

Beaches.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to do all this,” Castiel laughs, looking at Dean’s list. They’ve showered and dressed casually for the day. 

“I know, but I wanna show you everything. I figured if we do them in order, and we’re strict with the schedule—”

“Then we’ll be exhausted and grumpy.” Castiel gently pulls the list from Dean’s hands. “And you know that won’t work with traffic. Hon, I don’t need to see everything. Los Angeles will still be here. We can always come back.”

“Not if an earthquake breaks it off the rest of the state,” he jokes, but then takes a deep breath. “We can come back?”

“Of course we can. This is your hometown, and a cool place besides. I’d love to spend more time here rather than just jamming a week’s worth of activities into a day. Just show me a few things you love.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“I just figured, you know, with the store…”

“I know. But I have a family I want to spend time with, do things with. My dad lived at the store, and I have for years, but I want more balance now, for you guys.”

Dean grins and kisses him. “We’ll work on it together.”

They laugh at the reminder of their morning activities.

The first place Dean takes him is Griffith Park. They could spend an entire day here easily, taking in the natural beauty, visiting the zoo and observatory, and snapping picture after picture of everything there is to see. They talk while holding hands along an easy trail. 

“Matt would love this,” Castiel says. 

“If he can tolerate the plane ride, we’ll get him out here. Visit the zoo as much as he wants.”

“I’m guessing he’ll tolerate the plane ride better than his daddy.”

Dean frowns. “What? You handled it great. I’m the one who was a wreck.”

Castiel rolls his eyes affectionately and shoots him a smirk. “I was talking about you.”

“Oh.” Dean’s still not used to that. He tips his head toward his chest, blushing and smiling like a loon. It makes Castiel fall for him even deeper than he already has.

Next they stop at the Santa Monica Pier. They sing Everclear’s “Santa Monica” as they take in the people and the sights. Dean takes him on the Ferris wheel and grips his hand tightly. Castiel kisses him and makes him forget all about how high they are. They buy hot dogs topped with Japanese ingredients and hit the beach, breathing in the Pacific and wading in the water, shoes in Dean’s backpack. The hot dogs at home are better, but these are good, too. 

On their way to their final stop, Beverly Hills, Dean points out different places he’s been, things he enjoyed while he lived here, things he grew up with, things he misses. It pulls at Castiel’s heart, and as much as he loves Lupine Cove, loves his family and friends and business, loves his little life, he loves Dean even more. He gathers up his courage.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“I just wanted to say...I mean, I don’t know how things are going to go with your great uncle, but I wanted to tell you that I don’t want to stand in your way. If you need to be here—if you _want_ to be here—I’ll support you.”

Dean frowns, glancing at him as he drives. “I’m not gonna leave you.”

“No, I know”—truthfully, he’s only 99.9% sure, which is probably as sure as he’ll ever get—“I just mean, if you need us to move here, we can move here. Take your house off the market, sell the one we’re building, sell the business.”

Dean is quiet for a long time. Castiel sits, trying desperately not to jump to conclusions as he wrings his hands on his lap. They drive through neighborhoods that are gorgeous and waaaaay too much money for Castiel, who’s not used to the sheer opulence of it all, and finally arrive at what can only be described as a mansion. 

Dean unbuckles, then turns in his seat and takes Castiel’s hand. “Thank you, babe. Thank you for being willing to sacrifice everything for me. You don’t know what that means to me. Or maybe...maybe you do. I know what it means to you.”

Castiel smiles and covers his hand, his eyes welling and nose prickling.

“Cas, I love you. I love Matthew. I love Lupine Cove. Whatever happens with my uncle, with my dad, with these businesses, I’m not coming back here. My life’s with you.” 

The old Castiel wants to argue, wants Dean to realize what he’d be missing if he settled for him...but he resists. Dean knows what he wants. Overwhelmed with Dean’s love and devotion, Castiel begins to cry. “Oh God, how fucking embarrassing,” he chokes out, covering his eyes. “Ignore me, I’m stupid.”

Dean pulls him into an embrace. “Stupidly perfect,” he says, his own voice sounding strained. 

The moment is sublime. They’re in love, they’re happy, they’re committed to each other. 

So, of course, Castiel has to make it weird. 

“Do you want to get married?”

Though it’s been on his mind for some time, he hadn’t meant to _say_ it, not now and not like that, but it just spilled out of his heart via his mouth without his permission. He hopes it doesn’t mess things up between them. He has no idea how Dean feels about marriage. 

Dean pulls back, his eyes shining. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

Castiel takes a moment to gaze at Dean. He’s gotten better at reading him, and there’s hope in those eyes, that voice, that touch. He thinks. His jangled nerves settle somewhat. “Yeah, guess I am,” he says breathlessly, hardly believing it himself. “I know it hasn’t been that long, but I already know I want to marry you. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do it like this, I wanted it to be on the beach at home, or at a nice restaurant or something, not when you’re all stressed—”

“I don’t care.” Dean takes his face in his hands. “Yes.”

“Are you sure? You can think about it. I know our lives aren’t the easiest or most exciting.” Clearly the old Castiel isn’t quite ready to give up arguing completely.

“Cas, there’s a good chance I could be broke tomorrow. Will you still want to marry me?”

Castiel’s brows pinch together. “Of course, I don’t care about—”

“And I don’t care about that or any other hardship, either. Whatever we face, we face it together, right?”

Castiel smiles. “Yes. But I’m just saying that I know it’s a big step, and—”

“Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.” 

They try to kiss but are laughing too much to do much more than simply graze lips and teeth. _They’re getting married._ They stay lost in each other until Dean’s phone trills with a reminder.

“Oh shit. Come on, babe, we’re gonna be late.”

An elderly man Castiel assumes is Abraham Campbell answers the door. He’s shorter than Dean, stooped with age, and his eyes and smile are bright. “Dean! And this must be Castiel. Come in, boys.”

Abraham is much gentler than Castiel expected. He shows them around the house, telling them stories about Dean’s mother. He leads them to a sunroom, where iced tea is waiting for them. “So, Dean, tell me about all this I read in the news.”

“Well, it’s pretty much what I said. I have a job title at the family businesses, but I don’t have any real power or job to do. Dad sets me up to do these reality shows and parties and stuff so that I can promote the brands. That’s my ‘job.’ But I don’t want to do any of that, never did. I got my MBA so that I could get involved for real at the businesses, but he said I wasn’t ready and that I was better served as our ‘personification of the brand.’ So instead of being involved in the businesses in any meaningful way, I’ve been pretending to be an idiot on TV, this bad boy, just to make our brands look fun. I attend board meetings and stuff, but other people do the actual work.”

Abraham nods thoughtfully. “And that’s not what you wanted. You wanted to be a serious, productive member of these companies.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about now? You’re living across the country with this fella.”

“Yeah.” Castiel warms as Dean’s eyes slide to him, his mouth breaking into a grin. “We’re getting married, Uncle Abe.” 

“Oh yeah? Well, then, I guess we need something stronger.” He shuffles off. Castiel and Dean hold each other’s gazes and hands. A few minutes later, Abraham returns. “Drink up,” he encourages them. 

It’s a bottle of wine, and an old one. Dean pops the cork, glasses are retrieved from a cabinet behind them, and wine is poured and tasted. 

“Wow,” Dean murmurs. Castiel agrees.

“To your liking, then. Good. Now, Dean.” Abraham places his glass on the table with a gentle _clink._ “Do you know why we changed the names of the businesses?”

“No idea.”

“Your mother was the light of not only your parents’ lives, but mine. And when you were born, you became the light of hers. We figured the best gift we could give your mother was to name the businesses you would eventually inherit after you.”

“So Winchester…”

“Is for you, not her or your father. We figured we’d keep it to the last name in case there were other children, but that’s why we did it. Your mother wanted these businesses to be yours and your brother’s someday, if you wanted them. We got your father involved to make your mother happy. Now he’s been all right, got a few brain cells in that head—not that Samuel would ever admit to it,” he chuckles. Castiel smiles, remembering that Dean told him his maternal grandfather didn’t care for John Winchester much. “But it was never our intention or your mother’s intention to have him be there forever. The point was for him to teach you boys the businesses and then hand them off when you were ready for them.”

“But you thought I wasn't ready,” Dean surmises.

“He told us you weren’t ready, and from what we saw, it seemed that way. But now I know better.” Abraham sighs. “I should’ve come to you myself, but I trusted your father. So let me ask you something else—do you know that your mama’s shares of the stock were left to you when she died?”

Shock passes over Dean’s face. “No.”

“Yes, sir. You probably oughta look at some things, son.”

“I...Dad never told me, and our people always dealt with my financial stuff, I didn’t know—”

“Well, know this. When I die, it all goes to you and Sam.”

Castiel reaches out and squeezes Dean’s thigh to ground him, because he looks like he’s about to float away. With his other hand, he grabs his wine glass and swigs the contents, overwhelmed at what all this could mean.

“So, Dean, we got stuff to work out.”

“Yeah.” Dean turns to look at Castiel, then back at his uncle. “I want to be involved. I have tons of ideas.”

“He does,” Castiel can’t help but confirm. Dean has confided all of the things he’d love to do if only the businesses were his.

Dean smiles at him, then addresses his uncle again. “But can I do everything from Maine? That’s my home now.”

Tension leaks from Castiel’s muscles. They’d talked, they were _engaged,_ yet he’d still been afraid.

“Don’t see why not,” he shrugs. “But that’s to work out with the board. And we got your father to deal with, too. So we should get to it.”

Castiel admires the sunroom while Dean and Abraham dress for the meeting. Then, with both reluctance and excitement, Dean and Castiel head out, Abraham wanting to ride separately with his driver. 

“Your uncle was very supportive of us,” Castiel comments. Truth be told, he was a little surprised by it.

“Yeah, well, I think my perpetual bachelor uncle who I never saw with a woman might have a personal interest in supporting men who love men, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah. Well, I like him. He seems very nice.”

“He’s a good guy. Lot less ornery than my Grampa Campbell.”

They laugh as they pull into the parking lot, then grow quiet as they enter the building and take the elevator to the fourteenth floor. 

Castiel straightens Dean’s tie and collar, then gives him a soft kiss. “Good luck, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“Thanks, babe.” 

Dean disappears behind the door, and Castiel sits in the waiting area. Several people pass him by, most not paying him any attention. A few smile. John scowls. Abraham approaches him. “Thank you for making my great-nephew happy,” he says quietly. “I didn’t have any children of my own, but Mary and Dean and Sam were just like it. And I hear I have a great-great-nephew?”

Castiel grins as he pulls out his new, uncracked phone (“Replace that thing or I will,” Dean had threatened him last week). “This is Matthew. Matthew Dean,” he says, showing him a picture from the barbeque a few days ago. “He’s ten months. We’d love to have you meet him in person.”

“I would like that,” Abraham murmurs as he looks at the photo. “Well, you take care of them.”

“I will. And you take care of him in there, please?”

Abraham claps him on the shoulder. “He’ll be okay.”

There’s some applause. Some shouting. But mostly, it’s quiet. For three hours, Castiel whiles away the time—catching up on text messages, talking with the Rusties and his brother and Sam, checking on Matthew, thinking about their wedding. Food is delivered at one point, Korean barbeque that truly is out of this world. 

Finally, people filter out. They look tired but not unhappy...except for John, who looks worse than when he went in. Dean walks out with Abraham and three other people, all of them focused on what Dean is saying. Castiel nods, pleased and proud. _That’s my man._

When they disperse, Dean’s focus turns to him. He strides toward him, smiling, arms outstretched. Castiel stands and meets him; they throw themselves into each other, chests slamming, hearts pounding. 

When Dean pulls back, he says, “Well, life’s about to get a whole lot more exciting for us.”

“Yeah? I thought it was pretty exciting as it was.”

“Thought you said your life was boring,” he teases.

Gazing at green eyes, Castiel ponders that. “Maybe boring is a state of mind,” he eventually retorts with a chuckle. 

Dean presses a sweet, dry kiss to Castiel’s lips. “I love you, future husband.”

“I love you, too, future husband.” Castiel plants a second kiss on Dean’s mouth. “Now, tell me what exciting things we’re doing next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, a proposal! Surprise!
> 
> (Yeah, I know, no one is surprised. 😂)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And one more NSFW part in here because they’re making up for lost time or something. 🙄😂

_Three years later_

“Morning, hon.”

Dean buries his head under his pillow. 

“Time to wake up.”

He doesn’t move.

“We have to get going, babe.” He slips a hand under the pillow and tickles his neck, then drags the single sheet down to Dean’s knees.

Dean grunts, but doesn’t move otherwise. 

“Don’t you want time to get ready?”

Silence.

“Hmm. Guess I’ll have to use what works,” he murmurs, sliding a hand down his back until his finger trails between Dean’s asscheeks. 

Dean opens his eyes. “You wanna do it? I’m still loose, I bet.” He shakes his ass.

Castiel laughs. “The only thing that can make you pleasant before coffee,” he teases, then slaps his backside. “We don’t have time, though. Come on, up.”

Dean yanks him down next to him. “Always time for sex.”

“Not when I’ve tried waking you three times already. Come on. We have things to do and a plane to catch.”

“Unhhhhh.”

“I’ll send Matt in here with his fire truck, and I’ll let him play alllll the sirens for you.”

“God, no. I thought you loved me.”

“Nope.”

Dean grumbles but starts dragging himself out of bed. 

Castiel snickers to himself as he trots downstairs. Their interaction reminds him of a dream he used to have frequently. In the dream, though, it was his partner who was waking him, whispering sweet words and enticing him with sex before they took off on some romantic getaway. 

Real life isn’t much like that. 

It’s even better.

His husband isn’t particularly romantic in the wine-and-candles way, but he is the kindest, most thoughtful man, always showing him how much he loves him even when he’s so exhausted he can barely see straight. He’s grumpy in the morning—Castiel finally found that out after living together for a while, when Dean relaxed enough to let his true colors show—but it just gives Castiel an excuse to return his kindness in coffee and kisses.

They have an adorable, big-hearted son, nearly four years old now.

Their house, right by the ocean, is incredible.

Their businesses are...busy. Busy and wonderful. But never too busy to preclude family time.

Their circle of family and friends has grown.

And Lupine Cove...well, it remains the same.

But Castiel has changed.

He’s braver. Stronger. More confident. 

And he dresses a little better these days—not much, but better.

Sometimes.

Castiel reaches the kitchen, where Matthew is eating cereal with his uncles Gabe and Sam. He leans down and smooches him on the cheek. Matthew grins, Cheerios oozing between his teeth. “Hi, Daddy. Uncle Gabe and Uncle Sam are being funny.”

“They’re always being funny, Matt. Your uncles are weirdos.” He musses Matthew’s hair and tells him to swallow his food.

“Yeah! Weirdos!” Matthew giggles in that infectious way that little ones have. Castiel tickles him lightly and kisses him again.

“I wasn’t being funny, I was making a serious point. Cas, tell Sam that women in bustiers wielding grenade launchers is cool,” Gabriel whines.

“In a submarine, hon?” Sam says, exasperated.

“First”—Castiel points to Matthew’s ears, then looks at his brother with a _What the fuck?_ expression—“no. Second, no. There’s a reason why Sam is the writer and not you. And third, no. I’m sure they’re plenty cool without your suggested clothing choice.”

His brother pouts, though Castiel knows it’s all for show. “No fun.”

“Thank God your movie-making is better than your story-pitching.”

Sam snorts and nudges Gabriel, who kisses him with still-pouty lips. 

Dean finally meets them downstairs, more awake after a shower and the coffee that Castiel left for him in their room. Matthew beelines for him. 

“What’s up, doc?” Dean says, lifting him up only to swing him down and make him giggle. Doc has been his nickname for Matthew for the past month, since he asked Dean what M.D. stood for and Dean thought he was talking about his initials rather than the letters after a physician’s name. When Dean made the connection, the nickname stuck. It delighted Matthew, who has a love of old Bugs Bunny cartoons and laughs every time the bunny says his famous line.

“He’s eating, Dean,” Castiel warns.

“You got food in your mouth, doc?”

Matthew giggles, then shows him a mouthful of chewed-up cereal. 

“Gross, man.” Dean wrinkles his nose as he places a still-gigging Matthew in his chair. “Shoulda told me, kid. That’s not safe.”

Matthew’s smile drops. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“It’s all right. Just don’t want you hurt.” He plants a kiss on their son’s dark hair.

They chat over bacon, eggs, and toast, then say goodbye to their brothers and Matthew. He’s not going on this trip with them. Instead, he’ll be staying with his uncles, who plan to take him camping. 

“You know how to find us,” Castiel murmurs to Sam and Gabriel as Dean helps Matthew pack his things in Sam’s Outback. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be fine.” Gabriel waves off his anxiety. They both know it’s mostly unwarranted. Matthew, while he has his moments like any young child, generally does very well at sleepovers. He’s very close to his uncles and his red-headed “aunties.”

“We have backup plans in case,” Sam assures him, always the more sensitive of the two. “If he doesn’t like being away from home, we’ll come back here and camp in the yard or on the beach, or he can be inside, whatever.”

Castiel smiles. He appreciates the balance Gabe and Sam give him and each other. “Thank you both for doing this.”

“You know we love it. Don’t want our own rugrats, but we love utilizing our paternal instincts on yours.”

“Paternal instincts?” Sam scoffs at his partner. “You don’t have a paternal bone in your body.” 

“I got plenty’a bones. In fact, I got a bone just for you—”

“I’m leaving!” Castiel cries, turning and practically running toward Dean and Matthew.

They say their goodbyes to Matthew, keeping them light and cheerful so nobody cries, dads included. 

Dean waves as they drive away, then slips an arm around Castiel’s waist. “Let’s go make the rounds, huh?”

Their first stop is Lupine Cove Market and Deli. The place is busy, but not terribly so. Jack and Patience have it under control. 

Castiel smiles as he stands back and watches them.

“Proud, huh?” Dean murmurs in his ear.

“Can’t help but be. Look at them go.”

“It’s cool to see how far they’ve come.”

“Yeah. They’ve really made this place their own.”

Two years ago, Castiel decided to sell the business to Jack, keeping it in the family—even if Jack was never formally adopted, Castiel still considers him his son. Jack asked Patience to be his business partner, and the two of them have done an exceptional job, making the market profitable without burning themselves out. Castiel and Dean helped with that, being their investors and consultants, and even now their occasional fill-in staff if they get stuck. It feels good to see them doing so well. 

When the customers are gone, they greet the young business owners. 

“Hey, guys!” Patience smiles. “How are Lupine Cove’s happiest husbands?”

“Great,” Castiel smiles back. 

“Awesome, in fact,” Dean grins, then smacks a wet kiss onto his cheek. “We’re going away. Just swinging by to say bye and let you guys know.”

“Have a great time!” 

“Oh, we will.”

Jack chuckles, shaking his head. “Celebrating in style?” he asks. “You’d better be taking him somewhere nice, Dean.”

“Hey, chill, it’s great.”

“It’s Cleveland.”

“Cleveland’s great!”

Castiel rolls his eyes. Not exactly where he wanted to go for his fortieth birthday/anniversary trip, but he’d go anywhere with Dean. Besides, they have business there, so they’re killing two birds with one stone, as they always do. They’re efficient like that.

With hugs, they say goodbye to their protégés, then run a few errands. Near noon, they head over to Lupine Cove Brewery—their business—for lunch with their friends.

Anna, Charlie and Gilly, Benny and Andrea, and Zeke and Katie are there, waiting for them. As soon as they sit, they stand again to greet Ana Jo, her husband Andrew, and their daughter Jasmine. Castiel immediately opens his arms to the little girl he considers his niece. She runs to him, babbling about her stuffed unicorn named Uni. She’s a spitfire, just like her mother. Castiel truly feels for Andrew; they invite him over alone sometimes just so he can have a little peace and quiet.

The brewery is small, focusing on craft brews with local inspiration. That was Dean’s idea. The idea started as a larger initiative of Winchester Liquors’, targeting certain areas of the country with special-edition liquors inspired by the regions. That idea took off, so now they’re selling those special-edition liquors at their resorts. After that, Dean wanted to try beer, so they renovated a place here in Lupine Cove, buying the building in part with all of the money Castiel paid Dean during his employment at the market—minus one dollar from his first paycheck, which they have framed at the brewery. Depending on how this little place goes, they may expand and sell their beer nationally. If they do, they have just the place here in Maine to produce it. 

What’s important to both of them, though, is that whatever they do, they do while being able to keep a good sense of balance in their lives, prioritizing each other and their family. That’s why they have good people they trust running things, both in California and in Maine. Dean’s dad is not one of them—he officially resigned once Dean took over. Things were rocky for a while between father and son, but eventually, John admitted to some lingering grief and an alcohol problem he needed to get under control. He put in the work and made amends, and they actually have a decent relationship with the man now. As for Dean and Castiel, they oversee things, provide guidance and vision, and yes, get their hands dirty, too. They’re not above any job, whether that job is slinging liquor, cleaning bathrooms, answering phones, or playing waiter. In between, of course, they help to run a multimillion-dollar set of companies—thus the nice clothes. But mostly, they see themselves as teachers and overseers. 

It’s a lot of work, but it’s good work, and it’s theirs.

 _Theirs_. The concept is still strange to Castiel. But both Dean and his Uncle Abraham were insistent when he started to protest. “You’re my husband. I want you to be part of this, if you want it. And you have years of experience running a business,” Dean had told him. And while running a tiny market in a seaside town wasn’t nearly as much experience as he needed to assist with Winchester Liquors and Winchester Resorts, he did okay. 

“So, how’s world domination?” Charlie asks with a smirk.

“It’s tough work. We need more beer,” Dean jokes. 

“You guys ready to take this out nationally? ’Cause brother, I think this would sell like hotcakes,” Benny enthuses, raising his glass. 

“Workin’ on it. Next step is tryin’ ’em out at the restaurants at the resorts.”

“Good idea.”

“You know, you should do a test run. One resort. See how it goes,” Anna suggests.

Ana Jo raises her hands, an idea seemingly coming to her. “Yes, like...ooh, like the one you guys have in Mexico! Playa del Carmen, baby!”

Playa del Carmen is their newest resort, just a few months old. Castiel hasn’t actually been there, though the pictures are gorgeous. He hasn’t been to any of their resorts except for the one near L.A., which is a shame, but they’ve been very busy. Their vacations, when they’ve had them, have been spent doing family-friendly things that appealed to Matthew and wouldn’t overwhelm him. They didn’t even have a proper honeymoon. They married the very next month after Castiel “proposed,” opting for a small, private ceremony on the ocean, with a larger reception for family, friends, and new business colleagues at a church-turned-banquet-hall in Portland later. There was no need to have it so soon (Zeke still refers to it as their “shotgun wedding”), but they didn’t want to wait, and that way, Matthew’s parents would be married by the time the adoption went through, which it did soon after. 

“No Playa del Carmen this time, I’m afraid. Which is too bad because Dean does love his Mexican food,” he teases, nudging his husband with his elbow. “We’re going to Cleveland.” 

“Cleveland,” Ana Jo repeats flatly.

“Cleveland.”

“That’s lame. Dean, surely you can do better than that?”

A tiny, proud smile crosses Dean’s face. “Actually, I can.” With a wink, he turns his phone toward Castiel.

Castiel hears laughter and cheering, probably because he looks as utterly stunned as he feels. The tickets on Dean’s phone are for Playa del Carmen. “Dean?”

“No Cleveland for us, babe. No work at all. Happy almost anniversary and birthday and finally honeymoon.”

Covering his eyes and shaking his head, he stretches an arm out for his husband. Dean wraps him in an embrace, kissing him loudly near his ear and whispering “Love you” as he rubs his back.

* * *

Sex is so much better in paradise.

“Cas, oh fuck, _fuck, please_.”

“Now, now, what did I say?” He lifts his mouth from Dean’s cock.

“I’ve been patient all day.”

Castiel arches a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, sorry, sir, I know you know what you’re doing.”

Sitting up, Castiel says, “You know, the wonderful thing about being the boss is that I get to give you your bonus whenever I see fit. Whenever I think you’ve earned it.”

Dean nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Lucky for you, I think you’ve more than earned it. You’ve been so good all day, letting me take you to the edge over and over. Close your eyes.”

With a swallow and a little noise of hope, Dean does as he’s told. 

Castiel watches him, observes the way his lids flutter, his breathing stutters, his hands clench the sheets. He smiles and takes out the large plug they played with earlier, when Castiel let him look and touch but didn’t let him get either of them off. He’s loose and ready. He straddles Dean and, in one long, steady push, envelops Dean’s cock.

“Cas, oh God oh God oh—”

“Shh. Look at me.”

Dean blinks his eyes open. Castiel blows him a cheeky kiss, then uses the considerable muscle in his thighs to rise and lower himself onto his husband’s just-as-considerable length, putting on a show as he thumbs at his nipple with one hand while fisting his cock in the other. After over three years together, Castiel knows what drives his man wild. 

It was embarrassing at first to display himself in this way (admittedly, he’s fallen over more than once in his efforts to ride him without any sort of support, and he’s not particularly proud that he knows how to pleasure himself so well because of all the years he _had_ to), but Dean told him over and over that he was “fucking hot” and would beg him to do it time and again until he stopped being embarrassed. Of course, he’s embarrassed himself countless times in front of Dean, but Dean always laughs it off, so it’s stopped being mortifying and started being funny. Dean’s embarrassed himself a number of times, too, he says, but Castiel can’t think of any occasions (though they have laughed together a lot at some of the things Dean’s done or said). Love is blind, perhaps, or just accepting.

“Cas, sir, please, oh fuck, you’re so hot, don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, this…ride me harder, harder, fuuuuuck...lemme touch...”

Castiel doesn’t play around anymore—Dean’s been on edge all day, and Castiel’s about to burst—so he rests his hands on Dean’s pecs and drops onto his cock again and again and again, making the mattress bounce. He feels Dean’s hands wrap around his shaft and doesn’t stop him, instead enjoying the dual sensations. Knowing Dean is close by his breathy babbling, Castiel moves his hands to Dean’s thighs, leaning back and targeting his prostate at just the right angle. With a few more strokes, Castiel comes with a loud sob, Dean following just as loudly and powerfully as he pulses deep inside him. 

After taking a moment to let the aftershocks wash through him, Castiel eases off Dean and flops by his side.

“Ca—I, fuckkkkk,” Dean exhales. 

Castiel giggles. “I love making you speechless.”

Dean pinches him weakly, then giggles along with him. “Shower, then the bar?”

An hour later, Castiel is standing in the crowded bar. Dean is talking with the bar manager and bartender about shipping them some samples of the beer they’re making back in Maine (between the bar and the resort itself, neither of them could resist a _little_ shop talk over the past week, since their work usually feels like fun, anyway). Castiel is enjoying some Devil’s Deal, letting the energy of the place wash over him. 

A young woman approaches, introducing herself as Mandy, and begins chatting with him, eventually asking him if he wants to go back to her room and have sex. She’s very direct—she reminds him of his Trusty Rusties back home—and he appreciates that, so he’s just as direct with her, hoping she’ll appreciate it, too.

“Sorry, but I’m married. And even if I wasn’t with anyone, I’m afraid you don’t have enough penis for me. Or I’m assuming such.”

“Oh!” she cries with a surprised laugh. “Wow, not only was I barking up the wrong tree, I was in the wrong forest.”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “But it never hurts to try. I’d be happy to buy you a drink anyway if you’d just like to talk.”

Mandy accepts and orders a Devil’s Deal for herself at his recommendation, then they tuck themselves at a two-person table that a couple just vacated. She tells him about her studies, her cat, her part-time waitressing job, and her dating woes. He tells her about Dean, how they met and got to where they are today. 

“Your life is definitely not boring,” she smiles, swirling the ice in her glass.

“I used to think it was,” he laughs. “It still has its moments. I mean, most of the time we’re in bed by 10:00. We eat chicken nuggets for dinner and read the same five children’s books every night. We work, we pay bills, we argue, we mow the lawn and do dishes. So, you know, it’s not all exciting. But I don’t think I’ve actually been bored since the day we met.”

“Hey,” Dean says, arriving at their table. “Cas, I’m beat and we got an early flight tomorrow. You wanna come up or are you stayin’ down here?”

“I’ll come up. Dean, this is Mandy. Mandy, Dean, my husband.” 

They exchange pleasantries. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mandy,” Castiel says as he stands. “Keep studying and believe in yourself. It’ll come together for you. And if you want to use that business degree you’re pursuing in Maine or California, give me a call.” Castiel hands her a business card, then takes Dean’s hand. She glances at it, then looks at him with wide eyes. He’d kept it vague when talking about work, not telling her about his involvement with the resort she was in nor the liquor she was drinking. He smiles. She smiles back and raises her glass in a cordial farewell.

“You mentoring business students while on vacation, babe?” Dean asks as they walk away.

“Nah. She was just lonely and needed some company. Thinks she'll never find someone, won’t find her direction in life. You know how it is.”

They don’t say anything else, both knowing exactly how it is.

In bed, Castiel and Dean rest in each other's arms. “Back to reality tomorrow,” Dean comments quietly. “Right back to being busy.”

“Never a dull moment.”

Dean scoffs. “Never? We’re in paradise, alone, and we’re in bed at 9:30.”

“Well, maybe a few dull moments. Never a lonely moment, then.”

Dean smiles and kisses him, then snuggles into his chest. 

Castiel sighs contentedly, thinking of how grateful he is that the man beside him crashed into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for crashing in on this fic! I sincerely appreciate every one of you. ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Please feel free to share if you like, to subscribe to me if you like, to read my other work if you like...you get the idea. 
> 
> Thank you to the Destiel Harelquin Challenge 2020 mods and participants! I appreciate your support and collaboration!
> 
> And to find out what I have planned for you next, see below! ❤️
> 
> _Roleplaying Games_
> 
> Dean Winchester is bored with sex. His best friend Castiel Novak is, too. And since they’re both bored and neither of them are in a relationship (because they don't do relationships), why not try to get out of their ruts by having roleplay sex with each other? Sure it’s a little different, a little wild, but that’s the point. They both need something different to break them out of the humdrum of hookups and the bar scene, and they trust each other enough to really commit to the process. When they’ve scratched the itch, they’ll go back to their old ways.
> 
> But the more they take on new roles, the more they shed old ones, and going back to their old ways seems less and less appealing. 
> 
> This is a story about the roles we play, the friends we play them with, and becoming real.


End file.
